


The Escape Artist

by vipjuly



Series: Game Masters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean, Crossdressing, Dress Up, F/F, Fluff, Gentle Dom Castiel, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Roleplay, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-03-19 06:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 95,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: As a way to keep their brains sharp, Sam suggests that he and Dean start doing escape rooms weekly. The owner of the local business is nothing they were expecting, and everything they look forward to. Dean is entranced by the way Castiel shapes and molds himself into each new theatrical role, and it doesn't take long for his mind to start to wander, wondering about how well Castiel knows his way around a pair of handcuffs in the bedroom.





	1. Restraints

“You want to spend the day doing _what_?” 

Sam’s lower lip quivers, which means he’s getting ready to go into full-on puppy meltdown mode. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and then wipes his hand over his mouth, still trying to wrap his head around what Sam had just suggested. Sam is vibrating with so much excitement it looks like he’s going to blast off from Dean’s couch.

“An escape room! There’s a local business in the city with a few different locations, and they all have different themes. I think the same guy owns and designs them all. I did some research online, it looks like a really good way to keep my brain sharp during summer break.”

Dean nods, slowly, eyes still trained on Sam’s hopeful face. “You can’t just like, I don’t know, watch the Discovery channel or something?” 

“Dean,” Sam looks ready to pout. “This is an interactive way to keep your brain engaged. You would benefit from it too, you know.”

“You sayin’ my brain isn’t engaged?” Dean huffs.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, Dean. But this would be a good way to test our capacities and see what we can do. A lot of people don’t escape but still feel really accomplished when it’s all said and done.”

“This sounds really fuckin’ nerdy,” Dean says with a little groan, before throwing his hands up. “Fine. Let’s do your little board game and get it over with.”

“The website says the minimum is two people,” Sam says, immediately standing up. He’s awfully excited for a thirty-year-old man. “Maybe after we check it out we can get Charlie and Gilda to come with us next time.”

“Next time,” Dean says, nodding and turning around to head towards the front door. “Right.”

Sam grabs his coat and follows after him, his excitement rolling off of him in waves. It’s… cute, to see Sam so excited. This past week he’s been sort of moping around, missing his long-term girlfriend Jessica back in California. For summer break Sam decided to visit Dean in their hometown, Lawrence, to catch up and get an actual _break_ from all the schooling Sam tortures himself with. Well- Dean thinks it’s torture. Sam thinks it’s fun. Which is why Dean is having difficulty believing that an activity like this is is going to be fun for _both_ of them. The mechanic shop Dean owns and operates is closed on Sundays, and while normally Dean likes to lounge in his bachelor pad wearing boxers and accessorizing himself only with a beer… he supposes he can make an exception.

Besides, seeing Sam so excited about it? It melts Dean’s oil-slicked heart, even if he’s already anticipating getting his ass kicked in a brain game.

\--

Dean isn’t sure what exactly he was expecting when they pull up to a strip mall on the northern side of town. Dungeons and dragons? A torture cave? A decrepit building? He squints as they park; the business is between a dance academy and a Korean restaurant and looks entirely unassuming. If Sam hadn’t pointed it out, Dean would have driven right by it. 

Sam is out of the car first and Dean leisurely follows, making sure Baby is all locked up before pocketing his keys and trailing Sam inside. It’s well-lit and similar to the reception area of a doctor’s office; a mini fridge is up against one wall, a desk on the opposite, and a huge mural painted on one of the walls by the window. 

“Welcome,” a low, pleasant voice greets.

Sam greets happily, but when Dean turns his head to return the greeting, his words get caught up in his throat. The man standing on the other side of the reception desk is… wowza. Dark, mussed hair, cerulean eyes, 5 o’clock shadow. He’s wearing a polo with the Escape emblem on the left breast and khaki pants, a work uniform of sorts, and it’s kind of nerdy but wow, he makes it look good.

“We have a booking at noon,” Sam says, resting his elbows on the high part of the counter that separates the desk from the rest of the room.

The man nods, glancing down at what is surely the hidden screen of a computer. “Winchester?”

“That’s the one,” Sam replies, his voice lilting. He’s so excited. Damn adorable.

Dean sidles up to the counter, looking over the display of brochures and business cards, before his eyes land on a clipboard. There’s paper on it, a lengthy paragraph on the top and spaces for signatures and dates, and he chuckles to himself. “Gotta sign our lives away?”

The man nods, his smile a bit more reserved, but still amused. “A standard ‘loss of life and limb’ waiver.”

Dean whistles under his breath, “What kinda kinky place are you runnin’?”

Sam elbows him, but the man laughs. 

“I assure you, we are not that kind of business.”

The way he talks is smooth, voice deep, only the slightest bit of amusement lacing his words. But when Dean catches his eye he sees the warmth there, and he picks up the pen from the metal clamp of the clipboard, following the instructions to print, sign, and then date. Sam follows his example, and once they’re signed in the man informs them where the restroom is before directing them into a waiting room.

Inside, Sam takes a seat while Dean slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, eyes wandering around. There are bulletin boards with thank-you cards on them, a few framed newspaper articles, and a board depicting the success-failure ratios of each room. Again, Dean whistles under his breath as he examines the statistics.

“Which one are we doing?” he asks, taking in the way that each of the rows have been decorated. There are four different themes: Intergalactic Express has a little rocket ship drawn in its square, Prison Break has bars over the words, Room 13 had little red blood splatters, and Secret Agent had some Blue’s Brother’s sunglasses drawn into the corner. Cute. 

“Prison Break,” Sam replies, glancing up at the board as well.

Dean snorts, “O-kayyyy, did you know that only seventeen percent of people escape that room?”

“What?” Sam stands up, moving over to get a closer look at the board. His smile is huge. “Good, it’s hard.”

“Don’t you think we should ease ourselves into this? Maybe do an easier one?” Dean’s eyes look up to Room 13. “This one is twenty-six percent.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “It’s probably really cheesy. I read it’s the only scary room they have.”

“Scary,” Dean harrumphs, then grins. “Right.” 

The door to the waiting room opens and the man enters, holding a different clipboard and sending a small, reserved smile to the brothers. “Have a seat, please. I will be explaining a few things to you.” Dean and Sam amble to sit down, and the man’s smile stays small, but genuine. “My name is Castiel, and I will be your Game Master for the afternoon. It is my job to ensure that you have the smoothest experience possible. Any questions, comments, complaints or concerns should be immediately directed to me.”

Sam and Dean nod, and Castiel continues. 

“This is your first time?” Another nod. “If you’re still a little unsure as to what an escape room is: I put you in a room for an allotted amount of time, and in order to escape you need to gather clues and information hidden around the room. They could be physical props, or it could be information you read. Some of the clues are not locked up, and others are. You must open every locked item before you are able to attempt your escape.

Your end goal is to get out of the original door. It will shut and lock behind you. You need a four-digit code in order to escape and win. You do not need any outside knowledge in order to complete the game; everything you need in order to escape will be provided to you within the room.”

Dean claps his hands together and rubs his palms, grinning. “This is starting to sound a little cool, now.” He’s definitely a works-with-hands type of guy, and by the sounds of it, he’ll be able to work with his hands as much as his brain. A good compromise.

Castiel’s gaze slides specifically to Dean, his lips quirking. “I will make a believer out of you.”

Arching a brow, Dean likes the way those words settle into his belly. “I look forward to it.”

Schooling his expression, even though Sam regards their exchange with interest, Castiel begins explaining the rules and guidelines, as well as demonstrating a few locks. When Sam and Dean are sufficiently informed Castiel walks towards the door, opening it up and turning around to send Sam and Dean another small, almost shy smile.

“The Warden will be right with you.”

The door shuts and Sam and Dean are left alone, both of them wearing matching smiles.

“Ok, it’s getting interesting,” Dean admits, his palms on his knees as he glances back up to the leaderboard. 

“You mean the Game Master is interesting,” Sam says with an arched brow.

“Yeah…” Dean smiles. “In a cute, bookish nerdy kinda way.”

Sam snorts, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. A few moments pass in silence, and just as Dean opens his mouth to ask a rhetorical question, the door to the waiting room gets _kicked_ open, the handle slamming against the wooden block on the adjacent wall, causing both Sam and Dean to jump in surprise.

The first thing Dean sees is steel-toed boots, well-worn but taken care of. His eyes trail up from the boots to see black skinny jeans framing runner’s legs, a studded belt, a police uniform shirt and… 

“Shit,” Dean breathes.

Castiel has ditched his nerdy polo and khaki combo and swapped it for the hottest, most modest rendition of a sexy police officer uniform Dean has ever laid eyes on. A hat is perched atop his messy hair, badge shiny, aviators resting on his straight nose. His brows are furrowed and the man is slender, but his stance is powerful as he steps into the room, all evidence of the shy Game Master gone.

Dean has never had a police officer fantasy, but it implants itself into his head easily as Castiel regards them both behind his aviators. Even though his eyes aren’t visible, Dean feels pinned to his chair by the weight of them. 

“You both are going to be in my holding cell for the next sixty minutes,” Castiel - no, The Warden - starts saying, his voice with a rough, sure edge, “until transport comes to take you to maximum security.” He takes another step closer as he looks between the brothers, a wicked smirk curling his lips. “ _On your feet!_ ”

Scrambling to comply, Sam and Dean knock elbows as they stand at attention. Sam is smiling in amusement, clearly enjoying the theatrics, but Dean’s heart is pounding, blood rushing in so many directions he feels a little lightheaded. 

The Warden starts pacing, drumming his long fingers over his clipboard to fill the silence as the brothers await further instruction.

“Over the past few months we have had a few… mishaps,” The Warden confides, his voice tilting downwards in disapproval. “A couple of people have left me on my watch.” That smile slowly curls back onto his lips as he stands straight, feet shoulder-width apart, the edge of the clipboard resting on his narrow hip as he announces, “Because of this I have _greatly_ enhanced my holding cell procedures to ensure that it won’t happen again.” He leans forward a little, free hand reaching up to pull his aviators down slightly so his deep dark blues can pierce into Dean’s own dilated pupils. “Y’all are mine for the next hour, and mine only.”

Dean isn’t quite sure what prompts him, but he says, “Yes sir.”

Sam snorts, causing The Warden’s attention to snap towards him.

“You think this is a game, worm?” The Warden spits, and Sam immediately straightens his expression and shakes his head vigorously in the negative. Dean’s getting particularly hot under the collar. He’s glad he’s not wearing a jacket today. The Warden’s intensity recedes slightly and the smirk is back on his lips, as he takes a step back. “Follow me, single-file.” He turns on heel like he’d trained for years to do so, disappearing out of the waiting room.

“ _Thank you_ for choosing this stupid activity for us,” Dean says breathlessly as he slaps Sam on the shoulder and hurries to follow The Warden, ignoring Sam’s blubbered and laughing reply.

Down the hallway they catch up to where The Warden is standing in a doorway, aviators in place, hat straight, hand with the clipboard resting by his thigh. Once The Warden is satisfied with their cooperation he leads them into the room, Dean’s eyes glued to the way those skinny jeans hug the roundness of his ass.

“Any personal belongings that will weigh you down, put in this trunk,” The Warden says, gesturing to an open trunk.

Dean finally glances around the room; it’s not large, but there’s a ten-by-8-foot jail cell in the corner, a table outside, a phone, a trunk, and a door with WARDEN’S OFFICE printed on it. He takes his cell phone, keys and wallet out of his pockets and tosses them into the trunk, following The Warden’s gesture to enter the jail cell. Sam dumps his items as well as his hoodie into the trunk and The Warden slams it shut, ushering them further into the cell. Dean doesn’t really have a chance to look around before The Warden is grabbing his wrist, yanking him forward.

The noise Dean lets out is so embarrassing, he immediately clamps his mouth shut and feels his ears burning. 

The Warden is still smirking, his eyes hidden behind the reflective glasses. His grip is strong, and Dean is about to say something snarky - but then he feels cold metal snap over his wrist, The Warden’s hot fingers leaving his skin. Looking down, Dean is shocked to see his wrist cuffed to a pole erected in the center of the cell.

Sam, the bastard, is laughing and much more willing and ready as he holds out his hand for The Warden to cuff. With both brothers locked and secured The Warden steps out of the cell and swings the creaky door shut, reaching for the latch and a combination lock.

“You’re going to spend the next hour contemplating your horrible life choices,” The Warden says as he snaps the lock in place, spinning the combination. Dean is still too jilted to try and sneak a look at what the combination might be before it gets scrambled, his ears still hot, his skin burning from the switch between The Warden’s warm skin and the cold metal of the handcuffs. 

Rotating his wrist a little, Dean tests the give of the cuffs. Yep, they’re real. Glancing up at The Warden as he finishes securing the cell, Dean manages a smirk. “I thought you said this ‘wasn’t that type of business’?”

The Warden saunters, _saunters_ away from the cell and back towards the door, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. “This Warden accepts bribes” He flips a switch on the wall, a digital timer above the door blaring 60:00 in red neon, and then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him, the click of the lock audible in the ensuing silence.

Sam finally lets out a raucous laugh, “Dean!”

Huffing, and only mildly embarrassed now that he’s recovered most of his sanity, Dean grumbles. “Worth a shot. Can you believe that one-eighty? I can’t believe that’s the same person that greeted us.”

“I read that they’re really theatrical here,” Sam says, starting to look around the cell. “We need a key.”

Dean chortles, “If you had done your hair pretty, Sammy, I could have used one of your bobby pins to spring us.”

Sam doesn’t grace him with a reply, squatting down and starting to feel around the base of the pole they’re cuffed to. Dean finally starts to get his head in the game, glancing around. No need to be intimidated, right? There’s a small piece of furniture in the cell with them, fashioned with cupboard doors and a drawer. On top Dean picks up a book, surprised to find it with a false center, the inside containing eight pawns. Four light, four dark. Humming to himself, he squats, his left arm away from his body, still attached to the pole as he starts shuffling around the table.

“I found the key,” Sam announces, excitement on the edge of his voice. Dean looks up to see him reaching his long arm up towards piping that runs along the top ledge of the cell, fingers hooking on a D-ring that has a single handcuff key attached to it.

“Nice,” Dean says. While Sam works on uncuffing them Dean continues to peruse the table, opening up the cupboards. Inside is another fake book, this one with a bunch of Scrabble tiles - and then there’s a real book. _WHAT IS COMMUNISM?_ is the title, and when Dean opens it up and shakes it, a letter falls out. He feels the release of the cuff on his wrist and thanks Sam idly, picking up the letter and glancing through it. “Ugh. Riddle.” He hands it off to Sam, who takes it with hungry eyes.

“ _What grows when it eats, but dies when it drinks?_...” Sam chews his thumb. “ _Use the answer with your one phone call to gain access to the Warden’s office_.” 

Both men look through the bars of the cell to the opposite side of the room, where a phone lay innocently on a night stand next to the exit door. It’s too far to reach, so they return their attention back to the items inside the cell.

Dean is still squatting as he pulls a Scrabble board out of the lower drawer of the table, opening it up and examining it. There’s nothing written on or hidden in it so he sets it aside, picking up the false book with the Scrabble tiles again. Fingers rooting through it, he discovers a square with the backside colored green, picking it up and examining it. “Huh.” 

Sam peers over Dean’s shoulder, “Are there more green ones?”

Dean continues pushing tiles this way and that, and eventually ends up with five green Scrabble pieces. Gathering them in his palm he stands, looking around the cell, his eyes falling on the lock keeping the door shut. 

“Ah fuck,” he laughs. “The lock is green.” 

Sam’s smile broadens. “An arbitrary connection. Genius.” 

Dean makes his way over to the lock, setting the Scrabble tiles on the ledge running around the entirely of the cell at waist-height. He starts rearranging the tiles, wondering what order they go in; Sam puts a finger on the O tile. 

“There’s a one on this tile.” 

Dean looks at the rest. “Fuck yeah, one-through-five.” He arranges the tiles in the proper order and then rotates the circles on the lock until they’re all lined up, and then pulls, letting out a satisfied noise when the lock easily pops open. He opens the door and Sam follows him, letter still in hand, and they spill into the main area. Dean is starting to feel good - like his brain is starting off with gentle yoga poses to warm up.

Out here they can better examine the furniture and items they can easily reach. Dean starts investigating the table in the middle of the room, running his hands along the edges and underside. He pulls out two colored food trays from a hidden compartment, two chess pieces rattling around in the drink holder. His eyes go back to the cell, where there are seven colored trays tucked under the cupbard. Setting his findings on the table he quickly goes back into the cell, grabbing the trays and bringing them out - as he passes Sam, he’s handed more trays, and he puts them all on the table, arranging them into four stacks. Blue, orange, green, and red. 

“I found another chess piece,” Sam says, setting a black knight on the table next to the two white castles Dean found. “This riddle shouldn’t be this difficult.”

Dean shrugs, “That’s all you, buddy. You know I can’t solve riddles for the life of me.”

Sam gets a Look on his face, “Don’t sell yourself short, Dean.” 

Waving a hand, Dean decides to get on his hands and knees so he can peer under the table. It’s always good to stop Sam from going on a ‘you’re smarter than you think you are’ rant while he’s ahead. “Hey-” he shifts to lie down on his back so he can see properly. “There’s a drawing under here. A green lock.” 

“Anything else?” Sam asks, interested.

“Nah,” Dean says, standing up. He spots scratch paper and a pen next to the phone and grabs them, drawing a crappy rendition of the lock just so they don’t forget about it. He remembers Castiel specifically telling them to not flip any of the furniture over.

“Fire,” Sam suddenly says, flicking the edge of the paper, grinning triumphantly. “Fire grows when it eats, and dies when it drinks.”

“What do we do with that answer?” Dean asks, looking around the room. He peers at a few of the locks, “None of these are four letters.”

“Use your one phone call…” Sam wanders over to the phone. He picks it up, examining it. “It’s not plugged into anything, so it’s not operational.” He sets it down again, while Dean moves over to the locked trunk that doesn’t contain their personal belongings. “Oh! Of course.” 

Dean glances up to see Sam striding across the room towards the Warden’s office, punching in a four-digit code. The pin pad lock on the door lights up blue and Sam opens the door, sending a grin back towards Dean.

“If you use T9 on the phone, you can convert ‘fire’ into numbers. Three-four-seven-three.”

“Brilliant, Sammy,” Dean praises. He glances up to the timer, where 44:32 blink back at him. He’s not sure, but it feels like they’re making good time. 

While Sam disappears into the Warden’s office Dean kneels in front of the locked trunk, picking up the Master lock and running his fingers over the colors painted over the columns. The same colors as the trays. He looks over at the table and counts the colors, putting in the number into the corresponding spot on the lock, and grins to himself when the lock opens.

“Got the trunk,” Dean says, lifting the lid and resting it gently against the wall. Inside is a bright orange jumpsuit, which he lifts up and looks over; he searches the pockets and finds a flashlight and another chess piece, stretching his body to set them on the table where the trays and other chess pieces are gathered. Finding nothing else in the jumpsuit he tosses it aside, pulling out the other items. A chess board folded in half, the inside compartment containing the rest of the pawns; a laminated piece of paper with _COMMON JAIL TERMS_ at the top and word scrambles below; a wet erase pen; a diary. 

Dean gathers the items and brings them to the table, starting to flip through the diary. “What are you finding in there?” he calls to Sam.

“I found a briefcase, a box, and some golf clubs. The briefcase and the box are locked, and there’s a locked drawer in the desk.”

The handwriting in the diary is neat, concise, and almost looks like it was written with the aid of a ruler. Whoever was in charge of making this prop took great care in doing so, and Dean smiles to himself as he flips through the pages. He imagines Castiel hunched over a table, pen in one hand, ruler in the other, as he carefully writes the entries word for word. Most of it is _THE WARDEN SUCKS_ in bold writing, in the center of the page, on the first twenty or so pages. An actual entry follows, and Dean reads it.

_I cannot WAIT to get out of here! All the Warden talks about is golfing and his stupid Panhead ‘74. I’m gonna bust out and show him!_

“Something about the golf clubs in this diary,” Dean calls. He picks it up and meanders into the Warden’s office, looking around. There’s a photo collage on the wall, and he barely glances over it before returning his attention to Sam. “Have you found anything relating to a motorcycle?”

Sam is examining the golf clubs, but he looks up to gesture at the wall above the desk. “You mean like a giant poster of motorcycles?”

Dean lifts his gaze, and then rolls his eyes, feeling a little dumb that he didn’t notice it before. “Shut up.” He sets the diary on the desk and leans over it to peer at the poster, scanning it. “Panhead.. Panhead…” he reaches out to touch the poster. “Panhead ‘74. Got it. Made in 1956.” He steps back, glancing around the room. There are two four-digit locks, one on a box and one on the desk drawer; he starts with the box, lining up 1956 and giving it a try. It doesn’t work, so he moves to the desk. 

Sam makes a triumphant noise just as Dean does - Dean gets the desk open and Sam is opening up the briefcase. “One side of the golf clubs were numbers, the other colors, and they were labeled left and right. Beautiful.” 

“Man, whoever thinks of this shit is a genius,” Dean says with honest appreciation. Even if some of this stuff is over his head, he can appreciate it. In the locked desk drawer is a laminated piece of paper with another word scramble, and another chess piece. Standing straight, Dean wrinkles his nose. “I think this is part of the word puzzle I found in the trunk.”

Sam pulls a laptop out of the briefcase, plugging it in and opening it up. “There are four accounts to choose from.”

Dean looks over, and then points, “Click on the green lock. That’s what I found under the table.”

“Nice,” Sam replies, clicking on the lock. He groans. “Password protected.” 

Dean grins and slaps Sam cordially on the shoulder, “Good thing you are _also_ a genius, little brother.” 

Sam shakes his head and chuckles. Dean takes what he found in the drawer and brings it out to the main table, setting it down. He picks up the bigger laminated piece of paper and reads it over; the first word is given to them, and it’s a scramble and a cypher all at once. Dean puffs his cheeks and resists a groan - word puzzles are _not_ his forte. He picks up the wet erase marker anyway, resigning himself to his fate. Might as well try, right?

Five minutes pass in silence. Sam returns to the main room, looking around for a moment - and then moves towards the table where the phone rests, kneeling next to it. 

“Hey,” Sam reaches out a hand. “Flashlight.”

Dean straightens, welcoming the distraction. He’s only figured out one word. He watches Sam curiously, “What’s up?”

“The password hint was ‘a hole’, and there’s a hole in this night stand,” Sam explains, turning the flashlight on and shining it in the hole. He grins. “Jackpot. Write this down.”

In the margin of the word scramble Dean writes down the letters and numbers Sam rattles off to him. Sam goes into the Warden’s office to grab the laptop and bring it out to the table where Dean is, starting to type in the password. He glances over at the puzzle Dean is looking on, a teasing smile starting to form over his lips.

“Having trouble, genius?” 

Dean huffs. “It’s hard.”

“These rooms are designed to be challenging. I was worried we were going to breeze through it, honestly.” Sam logs in and starts poking around at the different files. “Ask for a hint?”

Dean stares down at the word puzzle. Then, stubbornly, “No.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “We’re allowed to ask for help twice, you know.”

“I know,” Dean puffs his chest. “I wanna keep trying for a few more minutes.” He glances behind him at the timer - 24:40 - and then looks down at the paper. “I can do it.”

Apparently Sam doesn’t feel the need to make fun of him anymore, as he picks up the laptop and returns to the Warden’s office. Dean goes back to trying to match different letters with the key at the top, and after two minutes, he finally squashes down his ego enough to get up and ring the doorbell by the exit door.

Only a few seconds pass before the door creaks open, Castiel poking his head in. He’s dressed head to toe in black and white stripes, obviously a ‘prisoner on the outside ready to assist’, and Dean finds himself chuckling. The uniform suits Castiel better - this outfit just makes Castiel look like the meek nerd they had first met.

“How can I help?” Castiel whispers, eyes furtively glancing around the room.

Dean holds up the laminated piece of paper, “I’m… stuck.”

Castiel steps a bit further into the room, checking behind him as well, expression rife with paranoia. He takes the paper from Dean and scans over it like he’s never seen it before. “This is the secret code we use to pass notes,” he reveals, setting the paper back down on the table. He points to the word Dean has already solved. “This is correct.” He glances up to the Warden’s office, licking his lips nervously, before lowering his voice. “I’ll give you one more word.”

Dean hands off the purple pen, watching Castiel’s beautiful fingers grip it and start to fill in one of the larger words. In neat, capitalized letters - the same in the diary - Castiel writes _INFIRMARY_ above one of the scrambles. Dean groans at himself. He had mixed up the ‘S’ and the ‘N’. Castiel sets the pen down and then straightens, backing towards the door, lifting his gaze to check their time. 

Dean turns around to thank him, but Castiel is lifting a finger to his lips as he exits, the ghost of a wry smirk on his lips as he disappears. Grinning, Dean picks up the pen, and starts to make much more progress on the puzzle than he was before. Sam and Dean work separately for a while, until there’s ten minutes left and Sam comes out, unlocking one of the boxes on the wall. Dean looks up with interest, about to ask Sam how he figured out that combination, but then a wall shakes and _skrrrrs_ , a secret room opening up.

“Fucking cool!” Dean says, abandoning the last word of his puzzle so he can go with Sam to investigate. It’s small inside so Dean climbs in, looking around. He picks up a black box with another combination lock, and then looks at the wall, squinting to read in the semi-dark. “Light plus light equals A,” he says, loud enough for Sam to hear and maybe start writing down. “Dark plus dark equals B. A times B equals question-mark.” 

As he exits the room he sees Sam writing on a piece of scratch paper, frowning. “This obviously goes to the chessboard.”

Dean nods, setting the box down on the table. “I bet the last word on my sheet opens up this box.” He picks up the pen again, eyes working double time to match all of the letters. Sam waits almost impatiently, drumming his fingers on his thighs as he tries not to crowd Dean’s space. When Dean solves the last word he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wrong.”

“What?” Sam asks, startled. 

“The answer- it’s ‘wrong’,” Dean says, holding up the small laminated piece of paper. 

Sam grins, immediately going to work on the lock. Dean glances up at the clock - three minutes left - and when Sam gets the box open he finds a USB drive, immediately moving back to the Warden’s office to plug it in to the laptop. “Get the chess board!”

Dean clears an area on the table, setting up the chess board and setting all the pieces in their correct places with surprising accuracy. A video plays on the laptop, a tinny voice echoing from the speakers. Castiel’s rough voice is pitched, sounding as paranoid as the Castiel that came in and helped Dean with the puzzle, and announces which chess pieces go on which part of the board. 

Only four of them.

It all clicks. Dean grabs the scratch paper and the pen, lifting up the pieces; there are numbers written on the bottoms of them, as well as numbers on the board, and Dean makes quick work of adding them all together. “Shit, Sam-” Dean stares at the A and B he has calculated. “I need a calculator, I don’t have time to multiply these numbers.”

The clock reads 1:30 remaining. Sam comes out of the office quickly with a calculator, “Found this in a drawer,” passing it off to Dean. Fumbling fingers multiply A and B, revealing a four-digit code, and Dean says it out loud as Sam punches it into the exit door.

The door unlocks and Sam swings it open, their cheers of accomplishment dying on their lips as they are greeted with a very Pissed Off Warden. His arms are folded across his chest in a way that show off biceps that Dean didn’t notice before, aviators resting on his nose, and oh God, he’s holding a _baton_. Dean’s knees go a little weak. They stand in terse, unsure silence, and then The Warden steps to the side, gesturing with his baton, his voice rough.

“Congratulations. You’ve outwitted the best.”

Sam laughs in relief and steps out first, Dean trailing behind him, feeling like he can’t really catch his breath. The Warden takes off his sunglasses and offers them a smile, obviously breaking character as he takes off his hat as well.

“I’m very impressed,” Castiel says, his voice returning to his normal low pitch. “I have never had two people escape that room before.” 

“Ever?” Sam asks, raising his brows in surprise. 

Castiel’s smile grows warm, “Ever. It was very interesting watching you two.”

“We’re a good team,” Sam says, clapping Dean on the shoulder, voice proud.

Dean shakes himself out of his stupor, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, my brain hurts.” 

Castiel waits for them to go back into the room and grab their personal belongings, before gesturing for them to start walking up to the front of the store. He responds to Dean’s words with a friendly chuckle, “That is one of the most common phrases I hear when people are done with my rooms.”

“Your rooms?” Dean sends Castiel his own surprised look.

Castiel smiles, a little on the secretive side. “My rooms.”

“You’re the owner?” Sam confirms as they reach the front.

“I am,” Castiel says, making his way behind the counter. He sets down his hat, aviators and baton, looking between the brothers. 

“So,” Sam is immediately re-interested in the whole thing, “you design the rooms?”

“I conceptualize them myself, think of the puzzles, and then employ help to build the rooms,” Castiel says with a nod. 

“That’s so cool,” Sam is nearly gushing. “It must take a lot of work. And the theatrics! You’re really good. This is so awesome.” 

Castiel’s smile turns inward and he ducks his gaze. He’s probably heard the same thing before, but Sam’s praises and compliments are always so _earnest_ , it can be a little jarring. “Thank you. I appreciate your feedback. Especially coming from people who are smart enough to figure out my game.”

“Nah,” Dean waves a hand, to try and lessen the importance Castiel just sort of laid on them. “Sammy’s a genius. Getting his doctorate and all. Thought this would be a good way to keep his brain sharp during summer vacation.”

Castiel’s smile widens some as he turns his attention to Sam. “I’m honored that you chose this as a pastime.” 

Sam grins, “No problem, Castiel. We’ll be back for sure.” 

“Definitely,” Dean finds himself agreeing without his own permission. Yes, the room was cool and challenging, but his brain _does_ hurt, and he’s not sure how much more he can stretch its limits. But… Castiel is here. And Dean is very interested in Castiel. Especially if he adapts his persona to complement whatever room he’s handling. Dean wonders what other sides of Castiel exist…

“Sundays are slow, as you can see,” Castiel gestures around the empty lobby, “and they are the only day of the week that I work. You’re welcome back on Sundays for a discount if you can continue to impress me.”

Sam readily accepts, “Thank you, that’s awesome!”

Dean’s smile twitches at the corners. “Awesome.”

Sam starts for the door and Dean isn’t ready to leave Castiel’s presence, but he forces himself to follow, Sam imparting a friendly goodbye as he exits. 

“Hey.”

Sam is already halfway to the car, but Dean is stopped by Castiel’s deep voice. Turning around, he sees that Castiel has the police hat on again, sunglasses in his hand, an earpiece resting on his full lower lip. His gaze is hot, focused, and he smirks, using the sunglasses to gesture at Dean.

“Stay out of trouble, punk.”

Dean exhales, feeling heat zip through his body. “Yes sir.” He nearly falls out of the door, slamming it behind him as he races to the car, not wanting to see Castiel’s reaction to his breathy reply.

He has a feeling he knows what the reply would have been.

“Same time next week?” Sam says, clearly still excited at the rush of it all.

“Yeah,” Dean says, a smile curling on his lips. “Can’t wait.”

\--

The following weekend Dean is pulling Baby up right in front of the Escape room door, cutting the engine. The OPEN sign is blinking in random patterns in the window and it looks unoccupied inside - Castiel hadn’t been lying when he said Sundays are slow days, apparently. Sam and Dean get out of the car, this time more excited and prepared for what’s to come. The door chimes when it opens and now Dean’s attention is on the desk - which is… actually unoccupied.

“Uh,” Dean glances around. “It is noon, right?” 

Sam nods, shrugging and making his way to the counter so he can start signing the waiver without prompting. Dean stands nearby, hands in his pockets, looking around. His eye catches on the brochures he overlooked last time and he picks one up, reading it over. 

“Holy shit, he has eleven rooms.”

Sam moves away from the desk when he’s done signing. “Yeah,” he says, because obviously he knew. 

“That’s nuts. We can’t do them all over the summer if we just stick to Sundays,” Dean says, flipping the brochure over to read the back. 

“What if we did two rooms in a day?” Sam suggests, peering into the waiting room. Castiel must not be in there, because he returns his attention to Dean.

“Do you _want_ to kill me?” Dean asks, affronted. “I don’t know if I could handle it.” 

Before Sam can reply, Castiel comes walking down the long, narrow hallway that leads all the way to the back of the building. He has a small, reserved smile on his features, and today he’s dressed smartly in black slacks and a white button-up, with what looks like a flight attendant hat perched on his head. 

“Hello, Dean. Sam,” he greets once he’s within handshake distance.

Sam shakes his hand eagerly. “Hey! Nice outfit. Are you our flight attendant for the day?”

Castiel’s smile pulls a little bit wider. “As a matter of fact, I am. If you’ll have a seat in the waiting room, I have a few specific things go over with you before departure.”

Dean appreciates Castiel’s commitment to his roles as they follow him into the waiting room. Castiel, this time, breezes through the rules and guidelines, probably because Sam and Dean followed them to a T last time and aren’t likely to forget. He mentions some specific things about the room they will be doing today - The Intergalactic Express - and Sam and Dean both take care to remember what he says.

“Are you ready to board?” Castiel asks, resting his clipboard on his hip and turning towards the door. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, standing up alongside Sam. His eyes drift down to where the solid wood of the clipboard rests against Castiel’s sharp hip, wondering what it would be like if it were his palm resting there, instead.

Castiel leads them out of the waiting room around back towards the main lobby area. There’s a door off to the side with INTERGALACTIC EXPRESS above the frame, and Dean grins. He expects pretty much all of his nerdy fantasies to come true - not that he would admit to having nerdy fantasies at all - upon entering the room.

It doesn’t disappoint.

The room is crafted a bit like a movie theater; there are three rows of folding seats just on the side of the door and Castiel directs them to the front row of seating as they move further into the room. There’s a round table in the center with a tablecloth draped over it, a bureau on the left side of the room, a triangular table in the front starboard side of the room, four ‘windows’ (two on each opposing wall), and a door that leads to an area that looks suspiciously like a cockpit.

“Please have a seat,” Castiel instructs. 

Dean sits next to Sam and glances down at the arm rests, his voice pitching slightly. “Seatbelts?”

Castiel sends Dean a sunny smile, “We aboard the Intergalactic Express pride ourselves on providing the safest travel for our customers.”

Sam is already buckling himself in while Castiel turns on a television mounted above the door to the cockpit. Do all of Castiel’s rooms have restraints in them? Dean thinks that’s a good fetish to have, but not one to coerce strangers into. Not that he’s complaining. Well, he’s sure no one complains. Not when someone like Castiel restrains them, anyway. Although, Dean has to wonder why type of people Castiel employs. Are they all as theatrical as him? Or good looking? 

Suddenly Castiel is in Dean’s space, reaching down to his lap. Dean splutters in surprise and Castiel finishes fastening his seatbelt, sending Dean a little smirk as he thumbs the center of it. 

“We must ensure your _utmost_ safety,” Castiel murmurs. His cologne wafts into Dean’s nostrils, woodsy and spicy.

Dean can’t breathe. 

Castiel pulls away and stands in front of Sam, reaching down to his seatbelt as well. Dean is still reeling, but Sam laughs in slight disbelief.

“The seatbelts are a combo lock?”

That grabs Dean’s attention and he looks down at his lap, seeing the three-digit combination lock built into the buckle itself. “Damn.” Of course that’s why Castiel got in his space. To secure the lock. Right? 

Castiel straightens and pulls away, turning to face the television. He’s standing a few feet in front of Dean and Dean’s eyes immediately go to the man’s ass and dang, is it legal to look good in literally any type of pants? Dean’s pretty sure it’s not. It’s unfair. 

Castiel turns around and Dean snaps his eyes up to the man’s face, probably looking as guilty as he feels. Castiel either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, as he explains a few things in the room, before he presses ‘play’ on the remote.

“Thank you for choosing to fly with the Intergalactic Express - I wish you a safe voyage.”

Castiel leaves. The door lock clicks and suddenly the room is bathed in red light, a video playing on the screen. Castiel appears on the television in what looks like a futuristic pod, lights blinking around him along with plenty of levers and buttons, wearing a captain’s hat.

“Hello, and thank you for flying the Intergalactic Express,” the Castiel on screen greets.

Sam grips the arm rests. “He’s good.”

Dean rests his elbow on one of the arm rests, chin in hand as he watches the video quietly.

“Unfortunately, after take off a few of our sensors went awry. Don’t worry- it’s nothing we can’t control.” Castiel plasters on what is obviously a fake smile. “We can navigate this situation, no problem.” His attention goes off-camera towards someone, speaking in tones too soft to decipher. Castiel’s eyes widen a bit and he looks back at the screen, some of the color draining from his face. “Oh. Well- it is my dishonor to bring you the news that we can not, in fact, negate the problem. Our...” he licks his lips, slightly nervous. “Our vessel has dislodged. The main flight deck has separated from the passenger cabin.” He leans towards the camera, dead serious. Dean feels his gut plummet. “You need to gain access to the cockpit and find the flight manual to bring the Intergalactic Express to safety. It’s too risky to try and rejoin the crafts - you have to crash land it on a nearby planet.” The video statics a little, the image on the screen doubling before refocusing. The audio is choppy, “You have to land the vessel. You have to-”

The video cuts out, blaring silence filling the room. The screen splits and shifts before 60:00 is displayed in the center, the countdown starting immediately.

Dean lets out a breath. “Fuck, he’s almost too good.” 

“There’s numbers below the countdown,” Sam points out. Dean glances up as well. “They’re color coded.”

Dean looks at his seatbelt. “My seatbelt is orange.” He glances at Sam’s. “Yours is red.”

“Ok,” Sam replies. They note the corresponding combinations on the screen and unlock themselves, standing up.

“It’d be really cool if the room actually moved,” Dean says as he moves towards the perimeter. “Y’know, like one of those cheesy rides at Disneyland where you’re sitting in chairs and the floor shakes.”

Sam snorts, “Probably more money than Castiel is willing to put into the room.”

Dean smiles to himself. “Maybe.” 

This room is more complex than the Prison Break room, Dean notes, as they start gathering clues and unlocking items. It’s dim, and the only flashlight they have is a sorry excuse, no doubt purposely half-charged to add to the challenging element of the game. They’re making good headway - Sam teases Dean about his knowledge of constellations as they start unlocking the ‘windows’ to match the constellations of stars on the inside to a deck of cards they found. A lot of attention to detail went into this room and as a fellow craftsman, Dean can really appreciate it. Not to mention the wiring for the control panel in the cockpit - lights flash, air whistles, compartments pop open. 

Out of all of the windows, one is still locked. Dean scratches his head and looks down at the round table; they had removed the tablecloth a while ago to discover a puzzle, and so far it’s the only thing they haven’t used yet. 

“Use the letters to complete the star,” Sam reads.

The star on the table has circles at each intersection of lines - they have been gathering what looks like hockey pucks, white letters on one side, red letters on the other. Along with those they found five blocks, each labeled with a word. 

Dean stares at the star, noting that the circle at the very top has an N in it. Five of the other circles have numbers in them. Glancing at the pucks, Dean picks up the one with a white N on it, putting it at the top of the star.

“Nets,” Sam says.

Dean spells out the word with the circular pucks, following the direction of the arrows. He spells the next four words easily, and then Sam reaches forward to flip over the pucks on the numbered squares. “The red side is probably the combination?”

Nodding, Dean moves over to the window. “Read it out to me.”

The lock opens on the first try and Dean grins, pulling out the laminated paper from the inside. He hands it off to Sam and then picks up the remainder of the deck of cards, flipping through all of the constellations to try and find which one matches. When he finds it he gives the number and the suit of the card to Sam, who is writing everything down on a whiteboard on the port side of the room. 

“This must tell us what order to put the numbers,” Sam says, holding up the paper that Dean had handed him. “Go to the last lock and put this combination in.”

Dean moves into the cockpit and to the left drawer, kneeling so he can get closer to the lock for ease of sight. Squinting a little, he puts in the combination and then yanks - the drawer pops open and he lets out a breathless laugh. The last page of their flight manifest is in the drawer and he stands up, reading the instructions.

“Ok- emergency landing procedure.” Dean says, moving to stand in front of the control panel of the cockpit. Sam comes and stands over his shoulder while he flips the switches in the right direction and presses the buttons; he presses fuel cell A and B at the same time and a hidden compartment falls open close to his knees, knocking him in the thighs. He lets out a surprised noise and then laughs at himself, reaching inside. He presses the singular button in the center, glancing around. “What’s happening?”

“Oh-” Sam points to the window that simulates looking out into space. “The alien language flashed there. Hold the button down.” Sam disappears to grab the alien language decoder sheet, a circular piece of paper that he has to rotate and squint at in order to correlate the symbols he sees to the number. “Seven… nine… four… three.”

Dean straightens and moves out into the main area, glancing up at the countdown clock.

7:54

He grins, “Let’s bust outta here, Sammy.” He walks to the back of the cabin and punches the code into the door, letting out a noise of contentment as the light turns blue and the lock clicks. When he opens it Castiel is on the other side, still wearing his flight attendant uniform, clapping and smiling that soft, reserved smile of his.

“Congratulations on successfully completing an emergency landing. The Intergalactic Express commends you on your courage and skill.”

“Dude,” Dean flaps his hands a little. “That room is _so cool_.”

Castiel gives a knowing smile, “You enjoy sci-fi?”

“I mean-” Dean leans closer, like it’s a secret. “It’s a side hobby.”

Sam slaps Dean on the back, speaking to Castiel, “He and his best friend Charlie marathon sci-fi stuff every Thursday night.”

Moving away from the room, Dean slaps Sam’s hand off of his shoulder, but he’s grinning. “You make it sound like we’re a pair of high schoolers with a routine.” 

“You’ve been doing it since high school, so.” Sam grins.

Castiel leads them back to the desk. “I overheard earlier that you were thinking about trying two rooms in one day?”

Dean raises his hands, “Woah woah woah. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

But Sam is nodding, the traitor. “I want to do all of them before I have to go back to California.”

“I see,” Castiel nods. They all walk back towards the desk, where Castiel takes off the flight attendant hat. His hair is the most tidy Dean has seen it, parted smartly on the side, the rest of it coiffed upwards. He looks… incredibly handsome. He offers the brothers a warm smile. “If you decided to do two rooms in one day, I can get you a meal in between for free. The owners of the Korean restaurant next door and I have a nice deal together.”

Sam looks interested, “Are they good?”

“Delicious,” Castiel confirms.

“Couldn’t have a deal with a burger joint?” Dean gruffs. Sam elbows him. Dean smiles. “So, what- do a room, have a lunch break, then do another room?”

“It is a fact that brains perform better when they are packed with nutrients and you have a full stomach,” Castiel says, with a small twinkle in his eye as he regards Dean. “If this is you two doing rooms on empty stomachs, I can’t imagine what capacity you function at when you’re full.”

Full. That word rounds out on Castiel’s lips and Dean stares at the man’s mouth, absorbing the impact of his statement. Of course, they’re talking about food. But Dean’s mind falls straight into the gutter, thinking about being… full… in other ways. His mind supplies him with the image of Castiel wearing the police uniform and Dean feels his cheeks flushing, bodily turning away to calm himself down.

“They have a sushi belt,” Castiel continues saying towards Sam.

“I haven’t had sushi in a while,” Sam replies.

Dean feels mortified about the fact that he’s half-hard, doing his best to look unaffected as Castiel and Sam continue talking about the restaurant. Letting out a breath, Dean makes his way over to the mural on the wall, folding his arms over his chest as he looks it over. There’s an astronaut in the top left corner, surrounded by milky galaxy and planets; a haunted hotel in the top right corner, a rather frightful looking dude in the forefront with the number thirteen hidden in his eye; a James Bond looking caricature in the bottom right corner underneath what looks like a mad scientist’s laboratory table; and then on the left side a drawing of a rough looking prisoner hidden behind bars. Each piece is done by the same artist, a mix between cartoony and real, and Dean finds himself appreciating it.

At a lull in Castiel and Sam’s conversation, Dean turns around. “Who does your artwork?”

Castiel’s smile softens. “I do.”

Dean blinks, then throws his thumb over his shoulder, “You did all of this?” 

Castiel nods. “As well as custom artwork within the rooms.”

“Holy shit,” Dean says, turning back around to appreciate the mural in a new light. “You’re a jack of all trades, aren’t you?”

Castiel’s air turns a little shy, “It was always hard to… express myself, growing up. I’m not very good at interacting with people on my own. In high school I joined the drama club to try and come out of my shell. I fell in love with theater. I did a lot of prop building for the shows, too. It all carried over into my love of board games.” Dean turns to see the self-satisfied smile on Castiel’s lips as he looks past him to the mural. “I was stuck in a stuffy office job for ten years before I decided to take out my savings, my retirement… everything. I almost got laughed away by the bank, but I bought this space, and built my first room.”

Dean finds a deep appreciation in Castiel’s passion. Sam does, too, because the smile on his face reflects Dean’s emotions much better than Dean’s own slightly squinty expression. He can’t give away too much on his face, because he’s pretty sure his little crush towards Castiel won’t be concealed. But his lips do quirk slightly, and he slides his hands into his pockets. 

“That was a big risk,” Dean commends.

“It paid off,” Castiel says, stating the obvious, but with great pride in his voice. A comfortable, appreciative silence falls between them, which Castiel breaks when the door chimes and a woman walks in. “Ah, welcome.”

Dean snaps out of it and Sam pulls away from the counter, looking a bit sheepish. 

“We’ll see you next week, Cas,” Dean says as he opens up the door. Sam bids Castiel goodbye and walks through, Dean hovering for a moment, unsure about the spontaneous nickname. Castiel meets his gaze and offers a small smile, his eyes dark, and Dean didn’t know that’s what he was looking for until he got it. He salutes, and then leaves, the door jingling shut behind him.

Definitely, he will be coming back next week.


	2. Camo

It’s Thursday and Charlie and Gilda are curled up on Dean’s couch, a knitted blanket draped over both of their laps as Dean returns with their third round of beers.

“So,” Charlie digs a little further, ignoring Freddy vs Jason on the television in honor of trying to pin Dean with her inquisitive gaze, “you’ve been twice and don’t hate it? Dean, you refuse to play _monopoly_ with me.”

“That’s because you have a fuckin’ monopoly on monopoly,” Dean grouses as he sits in his favorite recliner, taking a swig of his beer. 

Charlie has the audacity to preen a little, “I _am_ pretty good at monopoly…”

“Dean’s really good,” Sam says from the kitchen. “Surprised both of us.”

“Thanks for your support, Sammy,” Dean says with a tip of his beer in Sam’s general direction.

“I’m just saying you don’t need to be so hard on yourself all the time, Dean. You’re really smart and really good at figuring things out.” Sam says as he returns to the living room, taking up post in the other recliner on the opposite side of the couch. He hands over the bowl of popcorn to Charlie as he continues, “Castiel even said it: two people have never beaten his rooms before.”

Dean sinks into the worn cushions of the recliner, his eyes on the television, thinking more about Castiel than the movie or the conversation at hand. He’s properly distracted; Charlie drops the bowl of popcorn in his lap and Dean jumps a little, shooting her a dirty look.

“This Castiel guy sounds interesting,” Charlie says instead of an apology. 

Dean stuffs a handful of popcorn in his mouth, refusing to acknowledge her words.

“Oh, he is,” Sam replies, a lilt to his voice. “He knows his way around a pair of handcuffs.”

Dean chokes, and Charlie whips around to stare at Sam, slack-jawed. “What kind of business is he running?”

Thumping on his chest a few times, Dean sends Sam a withering glare. “It’s not like that. The rooms- all of them have different themes, and the workers all play a role to match the theme while they lock you up.”

Charlie turns to Gilda, “We are definitely going.”

Gilda indulges Charlie with a fond smile, “We can do that.”

Charlie claps her hands together, turning back to Dean. “What room are you guys booked for on Sunday?”

“Um…” Sam adjusts his position in the recliner so he can pull his phone out of his pocket, presumably checking the confirmation email. “‘Secret Agent’.”

Again, Charlie claps. “Spy room! Fucking _awesome_. This dude comes up with it all himself?”

“Even builds them,” Sam says, a warm tinge on his voice. It’s no secret he’s fond of Castiel. And hell, Dean is too, but he’s unwilling to get all goopy over him. … Yet.

Charlie whistles, “Smart, artistic, good with his hands.” She turns a wicked grin over to Dean. “Sounds like he was made for someone.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean waves a hand, still frowning. “Look- he’s really great. And really attractive. But we barely know the guy outside of his workplace.”

“So then _get_ to know him outside of his workplace,” Charlie replies with a roll of her eyes. “Since when does Dean Winchester tread lightly?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says defensively. “I just-” he wipes a hand over his mouth, thinking as he frowns at the television. He finally mumbles, “I think he’s out of my league.” A hush falls over the crowd, and Dean groans. “Damn it guys, just drop it, ok?” He stands up, grabbing his empty beer and making his way into the kitchen to clear his head.

What he said wasn’t far from the truth. Dean doesn’t typically make it a habit of being too self-deprecating, but in the presence of a man like Castiel… Dean had a hard time not feeling his shortcomings creeping up underneath him. Yes, Dean is successful - his mechanic shop is above water, he comfortably pays his bills and the mortgage on this house - but he’s not like Castiel. Castiel is _sharp_ and engaged, and he has a weird sense of humor and Dean is pretty sure he accidentally charms everyone he comes across.

And then, there’s Dean. Best known by the locals for taking an array of ladies and gentlemen for rolls in the hay and then never giving them a call back. He has a reputation that keeps him from visiting a few specific bars, and over time he’s just sort of accepted the fact that the only person that looks at him with lights in his eyes is Sam. Charlie loves him like a brother, Gilda is friendly with him because of Charlie - and other than that, he’s got no one. The mechanics at his shop view him as some sort of car god and are mostly too intimidated to talk to him about anything other than shop. Dean is seen as friendly but rough around the edges, and nearly impossible to get close to. The fact that he even has Charlie is a feat all on its own.

“Hey.”

Sam’s voice snaps Dean out of his thoughts. Sam leans against the counter and folds his arms loosely over his chest, his face doing that thing that prepares Dean for some sort of pep talk. Dean sighs, leaning against the island, scratching behind one of his ears idly.

“Do you want to stop going to the escape rooms?” Sam asks, brows knit in concern.

“No,” Dean sighs again, shaking his head. “I want to keep going. They really are fun, and I- I’m really enjoying doing them with you, Sammy.”

“Why are you so hung up on Castiel, then?” Sam presses. Dean starts picking at the label of his empty beer bottle, the condensation making it easy to peel. “You _did_ notice that he’s interested in you, right?”

“Yeah?” Dean levels Sam with his gaze. “Because I think he was just offering great customer service.”

“Rife with sexual innuendo?” Sam shoots back, brow raised.

Dean doesn’t have a reply. He tosses his bottle into the recycle bin and moves to the fridge, opening up the double doors so he can put some sort of physical barrier between himself and Sam.

“It’s ok to have a crush, man. I know you’re used to just… falling into bed with hot strangers, but obviously Castiel is different. And is that so bad?” 

Grabbing a new beer, Dean shuts the fridge and uses his ring to pop the lid off, taking a deep swig.

“It’s ok to have _feelings_ ,” Sam repeats himself. Dean rolls his eyes a little, but at least is making eye contact now. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he _is_ out of your league.”

“Ouch,” Dean replies, nose wrinkling.

“But why does that mean you shouldn’t try? Go for something you _want_ , not for something that’s convenient.” Dean knows what’s coming next, but he’s still not prepared for it when Sam says, “You’re thirty-four and lonely, Dean.”

Nodding, Dean takes another deep swill of his beer. “Right. I’m just a barren spinster now, huh?”

It’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Not at all. But maybe it’s time to hang up your frat boy mentality and find some fulfillment in your life.”

Dean falls quiet. Sam is absolutely right - about everything. Dean needs to do a bit of growing up, and learn how to deal with his feelings and whatever consequences they have. It’s always rough getting a Talk from his younger brother, but instead of continuing to argue, Dean finds himself nodding, raising his gaze back to Sam’s.

“You’re right, Sammy.”

Sam looks stunned. “Uh,” he glances around, brows furrowing in confusion. “I… am?”

Dean offers a small, genuine smile.

“I… am,” Sam confirms to himself, out loud, like he needs to solidify what Dean said before he takes it back. A grin works its way onto his lips and he steps forward, clapping Dean on the shoulder. “Good talk.”

Dean’s hand whips up to grab Sam’s wrist, tugging the oaf closer as Dean’s voice growls, “If you mention this chick flick moment to _anyone_ , I will find you and Liam Neeson your ass.”

Sam has the gall to laugh as he pulls away, saluting Dean with his beer. “Gotcha.”

Alone in the kitchen, Dean stares at the beer in his hand, a small smile quirking his lips. He still has no idea what to do about his feelings for Castiel… but he does feel a little less scared.

Sunday will come before he knows it.

\--

“Hello, Dean. Sam,” Castiel greets with his smooth, low voice as the brothers enter the lobby. His gaze moves over Sam’s shoulder, brows raising slightly. “And company.”

“Yeah,” Sam has an apologetic tone to his voice. “I hope it’s ok? After we told them about your rooms they wanted to come and see for themselves.”

Charlie has her fiery red hair up in a ponytail and Gilda’s hair is done in dutch braids, as they send Castiel warm smiles. Charlie had insisted on wearing army pants and a black tank top to better fit the ‘secret agent’ role, and Gilda had supported her by wearing much the same.

“I welcome you,” Castiel says with an incline of his head and a bit of a wider smile. “If I could just get your information.”

“Sure!” Charlie and Gilda move towards the desk so they can arrange payment, while Sam and Dean busy themselves by signing the waiver.

Once done, Dean takes a moment to appreciate Castiel today. The man is wearing blue jeans and a black hoodie with the Escape emblem emblazoned across the chest, his hair without a speck of gel and tousled messily. It’s the most casual Dean has seen him, and he finds he likes it quite a bit. Turning around so he doesn’t get caught staring, Dean makes his way into the waiting room where Sam has already taken a seat. Charlie and Gilda soon follow, along with Castiel, and once everyone is seated Castiel moves over to the _GUIDELINES_ poster board with a subdued smile.

“The room you have chosen to do today, is the most recently added to this location. For our newcomers I will recite our rules and guidelines, and go over some specifics for the room itself.”

Charlie looks as excited as Sam did on his first day. Maybe even more. Gilda is holding her hand in her lap, probably the only real tether to sanity Charlie has right now. A real life puzzle adventure? Be still Charlie Bradbury’s D&D loving heart. Castiel’s voice washes over them and Charlie and Gilda seem as entranced as Dean and Sam felt the first time, his presence soft but somehow commanding as he explains the basics.

“Now- this is both a mission based, and escape-oriented room. You must first deactivate the missile launch sequence, and _then_ find your code to escape the exit door.”

Dean raises his brows. “Adding another level of stress?”

Castiel sends him an almost secretive smile, “I like watching people sweat.”

“You sadist,” Charlie says with wonder, as Dean’s skin prickles.

Castiel seems to catch himself, the tips of his ears pinkening as he clears his throat. “If you would all wait here, your commander will be with you shortly.”

He exits the room and shuts the door behind him, and Charlie immediately rounds on Dean now that they have privacy.

“Holy _smokes_ that guy is like, Hollywood heart throb hot!”

“Shh,” Dean flails a hand, “Jesus Charlie, the walls are thin here!”

She rolls her eyes, “Jesus _Dean_ ,” she mocks, “didn’t you see the way he looked at you?”

The corner of Dean’s lip turns up a little in self-satisfaction. “I did.”

Charlie fans herself, laughing and leaning in to Gilda. “How cute. Our little Dean and his very first romantic crush.”

“Shuddup,” Dean grouses, even if his eyes are glimmering with warmth.

The door creaks open and grabs everyone’s attention; however, when all their eyes settle on it, there’s no one there. It’s quiet, and Charlie shifts so her back is no longer towards the door, leaning towards it curiously.

“Stealth Force-” Castiel slips through the crack of the door quickly, sitting down in the nearest chair in a rush. He whips his head around to look behind himself before slamming the door, his hands trembling, sunglasses covering his beautiful blues. He looks shaken. “We don’t have much time.”

Charlie lets out an excited squeal, Gilda covering her mouth to quiet her.

“We have been following the plans of Dark Command, a corrupt organization aimed at causing mayhem for the United States.” Castiel says, leaning forward slightly. It’s hard to make eye contact with him when he’s wearing those stupid glasses. A black trench coat is engulfing his wiry frame, and there’s an earpiece lodged in his right ear. He falls quiet, touching it, before he continues speaking with urgency. “We have intercepted one of their communications and learned that they have a missile launch set to attack the U.S. in one hour, unless you can stop it.” From the sleeve of his coat he produces a postcard, holding it out towards Charlie, who is closest to him. “This is the starting base of their operations.”

Charlie reaches for the postcard with glee - only to pout when Castiel flicks his wrist to bring it out of her reach. He fakes her out a few times, her fingers snatching and coming back empty every time; with his eyes on Sam, Castiel flings the postcard so it lands in Charlie’s lap. She harrumphs, but is smiling as she starts looking it over. Dean finds a wicked glee in the teasing Castiel put Charlie through without even knowing her.

“I have found an entry point to their bunker. You must work quickly-” Castiel pulls his glasses down a bit so they can see his heavy, serious eyes. “I’m all out of cyanide capsules.”

“We won’t let you down, commander!” Charlie says with conviction.

Castiel gives her a grave smile, “If in the very least, you will die for your country.” He then stands, turning towards the door. “Your discretion is important. Activate your stealth training.” 

Everyone stands as Castiel cracks the door open, peering through it. He reaches into the pocket of his trench coat and pulls out a revolver - fake, thanks to the orange tip of the barrel - but otherwise gleaming and deadly looking. The craftsmanship looks better than any toy Dean has seen at the store, and he has to wonder if Castiel had made the prop himself.

When Castiel decides the coast is clear he slips out of the door. Charlie hunches and follows after, totally in commando character, while Gilda, Sam and Dean follow with a little less importance. Once out in the hallway, however, Dean has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. Castiel looks like God damn J.P. from Office Space, spy-clad body pressed up tight against the wall as he makes his way slowly down the hallway. The way he holds his gun impresses Dean, though - a traditional combat trained hold, finger alongside the trigger and not directly on it, one hand under the butt of the gun to keep it steady. If Dean didn’t know this was the source of Castiel’s income, he could easily mistake the man for a real militia commander.

They reach a door at the end of the hallway, and Castiel raises a fist for them to halt. Gilda and Sam press up against the wall with laughter and Dean peers ahead just in time to see Castiel drop to his knees and holster his gun only to pull out a lock pick, working diligently on the handle. 

“I can only buy you an hour of time,” Castiel says, voice rough as he concentrates. “As soon as this door closes behind you, the digital lock will reactivate.” He jiggles the handle and the door pops open - Castiel opens it wider, making room for Charlie to duck into the room with an excited whoop. Dean is the last to enter, and Castiel’s voice is dark behind him. “God speed.”

The door slams shut, the timer above it blinking 60:00 before starting to count down.

“Holy shit, that was so cool,” Charlie gushes, before rubbing her hands together and looking around. “This is so cool.”

“Start searching,” Sam says.

It’s obvious this is what would be described as a ‘multi room experience’. The room they’re in currently can’t be more than fifteen-by-six, extending to the left of the exit door, covered in camo print wallpaper. There’s a black door in the middle partition, and a wardrobe at the end on the left, against the far wall. There’s a combat desk tucked neatly against the partition, as well as a wooden box on the floor marked _AMMO_.

“The wardrobe is locked,” Sam says, reaching up his hands to skim across the top of it. Only he can reach up there, probably. “Four digit padlock.”

“The ammo box has a letter combination lock,” Charlie says from where she’s crouched.

Dean stares at the wall on the right, where a black rectangular poster almost takes up the entirety of it. In a perfect grid the names of countries are listed, and he hums. 

“Inside the desk are more postcards,” Gilda says, rifling through the drawers. She already has a few dozen postcards strewn about the top of the desk. “And dog tags.”

Sam kneels, reaching between the inch gap between the wardrobe and the side wall. “There’s another dog tag here.” He pulls it out, then frowns. “This one looks weird.”

Charlie stands up and turns towards Dean, also looking up. “Oh-” she lifts up the postcard Castiel had given here. She flips it over and reads, “‘Uzbekistan. Right three, up one, left two. Your destination will be at the tenth stop.”

Dean puts his hand on Uzbekistan, on the black canvas. He pats over to the right three countries, then up one, then over two. “United States.”

“Is there a United States postcard?” Charlie asks Gilda. 

Gilda shakes her head in the negative, dispersing the cards to try and organize them. The dog tags are also organized in the corner of the desk. Sam is perusing a different poster, and Dean makes his way over.

“Guns?”

Sam holds up the all black dog tag, “Dragunov.”

Dean grins. “A man after my own heart. Knows his way around puzzles and guns.”

“You can blow your boyfriend later,” Charlie huffs impatiently.

“Here,” Sam points. “1963.” He turns to the wardrobe, thumbing the numbers into the lock. It pops open and he grins. “Nice.”

Charlie and Dean crowd in to see, even though there’s barely enough space for all of them to look. There’s a closet rod with fatigues hanging from it neatly, a canvas bag, and an ammo belt. On the floor are some cheap toy guns, and Dean bends to pick one up as well as slide the ammo belt off of the closet rod.

“Huh,” he says, moving away from the wardrobe so he can have a little space. There are five blue colored shotgun shells in the ammo belt; he pulls one out and checks the toy gun - there’s a spot to load rounds into it, but these shells are too big. He sets the gun to the side, deciding it to be a red herring, and then puts the blue shells on the desk next to the dog tags. He wanders over to the black door, which is directly across from the exit door, with a regular handle on it. Jiggling it, he’s unsurprised to find it locked. There’s a numerical pin pad to the left of the door, though; along with a square of colored paper above it. In four squares that make up one image: orange, blue, yellow, green. Dean chews his lip, looking at the shotgun shells.

“There’s more shells in here,” Charlie says, molesting one of the jackets to pull out four yellow shells. She sets them next to the blue.

“There must be green and orange somewhere,” Dean says, before his eyes drop to the ammo box. Of course. Kneeling, he reaches for the lock, thumb sliding over the shiny wheels. Five letters. Probably a word. He shifts, and when he does so, the slight breeze of the motion makes something flutter against the camo wall. Nearly invisible is a laminated piece of paper, also camo print, blending in perfectly with the wall. “What a sneak.” Dean laughs, picking up the paper as he stands. On the other side is a letter. 

“I totally missed that,” Charlie says with wonder as she walks over. They both read over the letter, and Charlie points. “‘Romeo and Juliet. But here, Romeo isn’t capitalized.”

“Typo?” Dean suggests.

Charlie grins. “Do you think your man makes mistakes?”

Dean grins back, “Never.”

They both look over the letter, pointing out the anomaly in grammatical errors, some words that need to be capitalized and others that don’t. Eventually, Charlie snaps her fingers.

“Siren! The word is ‘siren’,” she says, dropping to her knees and working on the lock. 

“Good job,” Dean praises.

Charlie lifts the lid of the ammo box and sure enough, there are green and orange shotgun shells inside.

“Count ‘em all,” Dean says, grabbing the dry erase marker and moving to the whiteboard by the exit door.

Charlie recites the numbers and the colors and Dean puts them in the order they appear on the picture above the keypad. Once that’s done Dean moves over to the keypad, following the instructions - inputting the numbers, and then pressing the pound symbol once he’s done.

A loud clank echoes in the room and Sam is jumping back from the wardrobe in surprise. “Woah! It was a false back!”

The back of the wardrobe slides open towards the side, Charlie and Dean high-fiving as Sam pushes aside the clothing and steps through. Gilda is still focusing on the postcards so Charlie and Dean follow Sam into the much… smaller room. It’s narrow, perhaps three-by-twelve, and the three of them are cramping the space. They start searching, though; Sam walks over to a box with four gas valves on the wall, and Charlie stoops a little to peer at a lever while Dean examines a big, black rectangular box fixed onto the wall. There’s also a door, but it’s padlocked.

“This says ‘lift’.” 

Dean snorts, “So… lift it?”

Charlie shrugs, straightening and _thwapping_ the lever upwards. Immediately sirens start blaring and the box Dean had been examining pops open from the bottom, gas masks dangling and postcards falling to the floor in a flurry. The combined noises has all four letting out a surprised noise - Dean being the most affected, stumbling backwards against the wall and clutching at his heart.

Of course, Charlie immediately starts laughing, pointing. “Oh my God, I didn’t know your voice could go that high!”

Grumbling, Dean scoops up the postcards and stalks past a laughing Charlie, handing the discovery over to Gilda. Her eyes focus as she starts flipping through them and then she whoops, holding up a postcard.

“United States!”

Dean grins, moving back over to the black wall so his hand can move wherever Gilda tells him to move it. It’s hard to hear what everyone is saying thanks to the sirens blaring, but he can hear Charlie and Sam discussing the gas valves. Something about colors.

“ _ATTENTION. TO DEACTIVATE THE GAS SEQUENCE, USE THE VALVES TO PUSH THE GAS INTO THE SAFE ZONE_.”

The voice booms over Gilda’s directions, and Dean waits for her to repeat them, his hand slapping along the wall as he stops on the next country. Gilda easily finds it and starts rattling off the next directions; her and Dean get occupied with this while Sam and Charlie work on the gas valves, and it’s another two minutes before the sirens stop and Charlie lets out an excited noise.

“Got something!” 

Her and Sam come back into the first room, holding a small box in their hands. Gilda gives Dean the last of the directions and announces it’s the tenth stop, all of them grinning.

“China,” Dean says.

Sam holds up a white laminated piece of paper, “The lock is three letters. This is a sheet listing airport codes.”

“Which are all three letters,” Dean replies with a grin. “What’s China?”

Charlie is already spinning the letters of the lock, “C… A… N.” She gets the box open and a key falls out - she relays it to Sam, who uses his long legs to his advantage as he makes his way back into the small room. 

For now, Gilda abandons the postcards as she follows her girlfriend. Dean glances up at the clock - 40:59 - and then grins to himself. He’s starting to get a good idea as to the type of pace he and Sam have been setting, and if he’s right, they’re only getting better. Especially with Gilda and Charlie.

The key opens a plain door that leads to a small filing room, a desk and a file cabinet the only occupants. On top of the desk is a black box with twelve holes, six on each side, and one of the drawers is locked. 

Gilda speaks up, “I found a tape recorder in the unlocked file cabinet drawer.” She turns it on and everyone crowds around her, hearing Castiel’s tinny voice float through.

“ _OSCAR… LIMA… DELTA… ECHO…_ ”

“Fuck,” Dean takes the tape recorder from a confused Gilda and moves back to the first room, grabbing the whiteboard marker again, starting to dutifully write down the military alphabet Castiel’s gravelly voice is providing with him.

Sam and Charlie and Gilda search around the room for a while longer before deciding nothing else can be done, meeting Dean back out in the main area just in time for the tape recording to start over.

“Oldest to youngest,” Dean reads off the whiteboard, “by birth month.”

“The dog tags?” Charlie asks as Dean turns off the recorder. Her and Gilda move towards them, fingers moving quickly.

Dean takes a breather, capping the marker and putting it on the little ledge of the whiteboard. Sam sends him a grin, but it fades when Charlie lets out a slight noise of frustration.

“How are we supposed to know which dog tags? There’s fifteen of them.”

A little stumped, everyone’s eyes start roaming the room. Gilda ducks into the closet and runs her hand along one of the sturdy walls, “There’s morse code painted here.”

“Oh,” Charlie snaps a finger. “There were three other spots with morse code.”

Sam picks up a paper that had been previously discarded, “Somehow we all managed to overlook this paper which tells us how to solve the morse code.”

Dean snorts, amused. “Getting ahead of ourselves.”

It doesn’t take them long to solve the morse code, deciphering four different names. Gilda separates those dog tags from the others, and recites the birthdays for Dean to write down on the whiteboard. Another moment or two and then they’re getting the numbers for the birth month, Gilda calling them over the wall to the other side where Charlie starts working on the lock.

“Got it!” she yells.

Dean and Gilda make their way around just in time to see Charlie pulling open the drawer and extracting what look like amp wires from within. The metal ends are clunky and the wire attaching them is white and sturdy looking, and Dean’s eyes drop towards the black box.

“Ahhh,” he gestures for Charlie to hand him the wires, which she does readily, “this is good. I’m surprised he thought of something like this.” 

Everyone falls silent while Dean starts to plug the wires into the holes - only on one side. Once all six are situated he picks up the end of the first one, starting to plug it in to the opposite holes. Nothing happens on the first one. Or the second. But the third hole he plugs it into makes a light come on, and Dean grins. 

“It’s a randomized puzzle based on electric current,” Dean explains as he works on the other five. “It’s not a strong enough charge to shock, but just enough to pass energy through to light up these little bulbs.”

“Neat,” Charlie whispers, and Dean takes the compliment fully.

The puzzle is fully lit up and a little compartment opens, Dean reaching inside. He pulls out a key, which he passes off to Sam, and then examines the paper within. He orients it correctly and sees its a map, with four red X’s on different spots. 

“It’s a map of the room,” Dean says.

“Dude, there’s a fingerprint scanner,” Sam says with ill-concealed excitement. Everyone’s attention turns to him - he turns the key in the lock above the scanner, and then presses his finger to the screen. It beeps with success and turns green and then Sam pushes open the door next to it, revealing a pitch black room with a lone pedestal in the center.

“Ok. Electrical puzzles? Fingerprint scanners? Castiel is officially the coolest person I’ve ever known in real life,” Charlie says in amazement. 

“Hey,” Dean glances down at the map. “The X’s represent pressure points according to this. Sam, stand in that corner,” he steps towards the door, “Charlie, stand in this corner. Gilda,” he comes out of the room and points to a spot next to the filing cabinet, “there. And me-”

As soon as he steps into place, something clicks. Dean looks over to see that a compartment of the pedestal has opened up, a keypad lit up within.

“This must be the missile launch panel,” Charlie says.

“It’s really dark in here,” Sam points out uselessly. He moves over to the door, the black one that they can see from the other side, jiggling the handle. “Locked. I don’t see a combination anywhere for it.”

Charlie glances over, and her eyeroll is so monumental Dean feels it in his bones. She walks over towards Sam and reaches for the handle, twisting the little lock in the metal. The door opens. She smiles sunnily up at Sam as some more light filters into the room, and Sam holds the right to look mildly insulted.

“Hey,” Gilda points at a tube hovering above the pedestal. The opening is about a foot over the stand, and the rest of the tubing extends upwards and outwards. “That tubing goes all throughout the rooms.”

“Hey,” Dean blinks. “It does.” 

They all walk back to the first room through the black door, finding the beginning of the tubing. The tubing itself has ribs cut into it, bigger than a finger - but the tubing itself is almost near the ceiling. Even Sam can’t reach it, and there’s no stools. 

“How are we supposed to move that?” Charlie asks, pointing to the black canister hidden within the tube.

Everyone takes a moment to glance around. It’s a good question, and Dean is personally a little miffed that he didn’t notice the tubing before. He needs to work on widening his eye-range.

“Look for something that can reach up there,” Sam suggests.

They all come up with an assortment of things: namely, hangers and guns. There’s a bit of a commotion and everyone looks over to see Charlie wrestling the closet rod off of the hooks, grinning triumphantly. 

“This looks sturdy!”

“ _Beautiful_ ,” Sam says, taking it from her when offered. Using the combination of his height and the pole he smacks the canister all the way around the rooms until it drops into the box on top of the pedestal.

Charlie picks it up and opens up, shaking out a key - which Gilda takes and disappears into the filing room - and a Top Secret document. 

“‘These locations have known ties with Dark Command’,” Charlie reads. It lists four countries below the message.

“Postcards again?” Dean suggests, rubbing his chin idly. He and Charlie move out to the first room, starting to rifle through the cards. “Ah- yep. Found one.”

They gather all four of the postcards and stare up at the black wall, frowning.

“Do you think we follow the steps again?” Charlie asks, glancing between the cards in her hand and the wall.

“That wouldn’t make sense when we already know what the locations are,” Dean replies. He taps his fingers idly with the postcard, and then groans and smacks himself in the forehead. “There’s numbers sharpied into the corners. I bet that’s our missile launch deactivation sequence.”

“Oooh!” Charlie squeals and hops back into the black room. “Tell them to me!”

“Seven, eight, four, three,” Dean says.

Charlie keys in the numbers and the room gets bathed in black light, a robot voice announcing:

“ _ATTENTION: THE MISSILE LAUNCH SEQUENCE HAS BEEN DEACTIVATED_ ”

Everyone cheers.

And then, everyone notices what’s painted onto the black walls, previously hidden and now illuminated thanks to the black light. They all fall silent, each taking in a wall.

“We needed to stop the launch, and _then_ find the exit code,” Sam paraphrases from earlier. “Each wall must be a different puzzle for the door code.”

“Each wall is a number,” Charlie says.

“Alright, Charlie-” Dean points at the wall that says _ONE STOP AFTER FITZROY_ , “Take that wall. Sammy, take the morse code. Gilda, airport.” Dean looks at a wall that has a scramble of words on it, some of the letters missing. “I’ll take this one.”

Sam solves his wall first, moving out to the whiteboard to write down the number three. Charlie is busy with the postcards again, pointing with her finger instead of smacking the wall like Dean had been doing; she whoops and writes the number one next to the three. Gilda is quick to write six. Dean is still reading the words, and he has to dodge in and out of the room to write exactly what’s on the wall - Charlie mentions something about colors, occupying herself and Gilda, and Dean finally figures out that the missing letters are a scramble for the number eight.

He glances at the pinpad lock on the exit door. It couldn’t be that easy, right? Not that it was easy, actually, but- could it be that cut and dry? This can’t really be the door code. In any case, he reaches out to punch it into the lock, and isn’t surprised when the lock flashes red and beeps in the negative.

“Dean,” Charlie gets his attention, grinning as she waves a few laminated pieces of paper, ranging in color. “This has to be the order of the numbers.”

Each paper is a different color, and has something different written on it: airport, morse code, postcard, military alphabet. Dean glances up at the clock - 24:55 - and watches as Charlie starts slotting the papers into different colored folders that are adhered to the black door. Dean frowns; how did he not notice those before? He doesn’t get too wrapped up in it though - Charlie and Gilda are an awesome addition to the team.

“Try it in this order!” Charlie says excitedly.

Dean takes up his post at the door, punching in the code in the sequence Charlie reads out. The light flashes blue and everyone cheers as Dean swings the door open, Castiel leaning against the opposite wall and clapping his hands warmly.

“Congratulations. You have saved the United States of America.”

A round of high-fives for everyone, adrenaline high and excitement pumping. Charlie immediately starts praising Castiel about all of the tech in the room, hogging him as the group starts walking up towards the front of the store. Dean lofts an amused smile; Charlie, as their resident IT nerd, always gets properly stoked about any sort of gadgetry. Judging by Castiel’s shy smile, it’s the first time anyone has complimented him so fully.

“This was seriously so cool,” Charlie finishes as they reach the lobby.

“I am glad you enjoyed your experience,” Castiel says, his low voice sounding a lot like the pleased purr of a satisfied cat.

Charlie turns to Dean and Sam, “Is it alright if we keep coming back with you guys? I’m pretty sure I’m addicted.”

Dean snorts, “Charlie, do you think this is a one-and-done sort of deal?” He shakes his head, reaching out to cup his hand over her shoulder. “You know I don’t do one night stands anymore.”

Charlie claps with glee, Gilda smiling warmly and putting her hand on the small of the redhead’s back.

“Is the restaurant next door good?” Gilda asks Castiel, who is currently behind his desk, clicking around on his computer. He’s standing a little hunched over, ignoring the chair waiting patiently behind him, and when he glances up it’s clear he hadn’t heard her question. Gilda surely isn’t human, what with her infinite patience and unending kindness. “Ginja?”

“Oh-” Castiel doesn’t look embarrassed that she had to repeat herself. He straightens a little, nodding. “It is very good.”

“Castiel has a deal with them,” Sam says. “If we want to kill ourselves doing two rooms back to back, we get a free meal in between.”

Charlie gets heart eyes, “Can we do another room today?”

Gilda tuts softly, “We have tickets to the movies in a few hours.”

Charlie pouts. 

“Why don’t we all go to lunch?” Dean suggests, his eyes straying over to Castiel, who is watching Charlie and Gilda curiously. “I’ll buy.”

Sensing Dean’s gaze on him Castiel shifts his focus, head tilting ever so slightly. “Is that an invitation?”

Dean offers a roguish smile, “Good as any.”

“I accept,” Castiel says, smile almost shy as he returns to clicking a few things on his computer. “I just have a few things to do to close up shop and then I’ll be right over.”

Sam, Gilda and Charlie are already halfway out the door, and Dean hangs back for a moment when the door closes and the group heads to the next door over. Sliding his hands into his pockets Dean rocks back on his heels, unsure about what to say, but knowing that he wanted to stay behind to get a moment alone with Castiel. Now that he has the opportunity to say anything, he has… no idea what to say at all. Confess? Casually suggest he and Castiel see each other outside of work? No- that’s what they’re about to do right now. Definitely not confess, that might be kind of creepy-weird. As far as Dean knows, Castiel is a flirty dude.

 _He didn’t flirt with Sam,_ a voice wibbles in the back of Dean’s head. 

“I’m glad to see you enjoying the rooms so thoroughly,” Castiel says, his voice cutting through whatever weird inner monologue Dean had been going through. He’s sitting in his chair, now, writing a few things down on a clipboard next to the computer mouse.

“How does anyone do one of these and not come out a changed man?” Dean asks with sincerity, moving towards the high part of the counter that conceals Castiel’s computer. He rests his elbows on it, peering down at the man, watching the fingers of his left hand move over his keyboard while his right hand jots down numbers.

Castiel glances up at Dean, and at this angle the shitty fluorescent lighting reflects off his eyes and lightens them a shade. His lips form the smallest of smiles, and Dean wonders what it’s like to get the man to really _smile_ , cheeks pulled, eyes wrinkled, teeth and gums showing. “There is a small population of people who find activities like this… trifling.”

Dean nods. He had been one of those people, before he tried it. “Well, screw them. This is an amazing concept, and they’re missing out on meeting a pretty cool guy, too.” 

Castiel’s smile twitches a little, and he returns back to whatever he’d been doing on the computer. “My employees are the face of my company. I’m only here on Sundays for book keeping and maintenance.”

Dean drums his fingers over the counter, letting the conversation taper off. He could make more cheesy lines about how attracted he is to Castiel, but he doesn’t want to lay it on too thick. Castiel doesn’t seem to mind the flattery, but Dean is treading lightly - if it were Old Dean he’d already have Castiel’s number and be asking him for a tumble in the hay. But New Dean is _interested_ in Castiel for more than just his good looks. Castiel is smart, funny, creative, and even though his personality seems to dim his shine, Dean knows that the man is probably a classic introvert. Dean is ok with doing things slow.

Doing things _right_.

“Done,” Castiel announces, standing up and letting the chair roll away from him. He picks up his keys from the counter and moves over to the wall, flipping down the panel on the alarm to arm it. The shrill beeping signals Dean to move towards the door and open it for Castiel, the man shutting off the lights and following behind him. With his foot keeping the bottom of the door tightly shut, Castiel uses his key to lock up, and then jerks the handle for a test, before deeming everything good.

Together they walk to the restaurant, a solid fifteen steps, and Dean opens the door for Castiel with a welcoming smile. Castiel returns it at fifty-percent, but his eyes are still warm. They find their friends sitting at the conveyor belt, drinks ordered and already chomping on sushi. They’re sitting at a corner in the belt, Charlie on one side of the edge, Sam on the other edge; Gilda is opposite of Charlie, leaving two spaces open next to Sam. Dean sits next to his brother, bow legs straddling the stool, and Castiel sits to Dean’s right, their elbows brushing.

“How is it?” Dean asks, eyeing the sushi warily. Man, he really could do a burger instead of this crap.

“Delicious,” Charlie says, popping an edamame pod in her mouth to start working out the bean with her teeth.

“Here,” Castiel catches Dean’s attention, handing him a menu. “They have hot food as well.”

Dean shoots him a thankful look, taking the menu and looking over it. In actuality it doesn’t look _all_ bad. There are things he can’t pronounce, for sure, but reading the descriptions helps. The waitress comes by to take their drink orders - beer for Dean, water for Castiel - and Dean elbows Sam lightly.

“Did you order anything hot?”

Sam nods, reaching over with his hand as he speaks with his mouth full of… something. “I got some spicy tofu soup.”

Dean wrinkles his nose, “Ew.”

Sam grins, because he knows Dean’s preferences. “You can try it if you like~”

“Noooooo thank you,” Dean says, bodily turning away from Sam so he can send a sunny smile to Castiel, like he’s the only person in the world. When Castiel sends him a small smile in return, Dean thinks he just might be. “What’s your favorite thing on the menu?”

Castiel shrugs a little, picking up a plate of sushi from the conveyor belt. “They don’t serve what I prefer here.”

Dean arches a brow, getting playful. “And what’s that?”

“Dick,” Castiel replies easily, breaking apart his chopsticks.

The air gets punched from Dean’s lungs and he coughs in surprise at the forward declaration, nearly falling back against Sam. He can’t even get his lungs to work properly when Castiel elaborates.

“With a side of you.”

Castiel, the smug bastard, picks up a piece of sushi and fits it between his lips, putting it in his mouth whole as his gaze slowly turns towards Dean while he chews. Dean’s cheeks are hot, his body prickly all over, and Sam is laughing at him, the asshole, nudging him to make him sit properly on his stool. Apparently he hadn’t heard what Castiel said, because Dean _definitely_ wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Still chewing, elbows on the counter with his chopsticks resting parallel to his chin, Castiel’s gaze darkens just a smidge as he regards Dean, who has righted himself on his stool. “Or is that not on any menu?”

Dean knows that Castiel is asking if it’s ok for him to flirt. Which is quite ridiculous because their first meeting involved Castiel slapping cold metal handcuffs over Dean’s hot wrist and Dean basically popping a boner right there. But he appreciates Castiel’s public discretion, and he also appreciates that Castiel is actually a gentleman. Not that Dean is some damsel to be wooed.

… Well- maybe he is.

“That’s definitely on the menu,” Dean manages to say, voice echoing the arousal simmering low in his belly. Suddenly he’s hungry for more than whatever it is he’ll order here, but… He licks his lips, sending Castiel a more sincere smile as he leans into him slightly. “But it’s more of a dessert item.”

Castiel catches on, because of course he would, the timber of his voice giving way to his own suppressed desire - laced with a bit of curiosity. “So you’re saying I need to enjoy the full course meal?”

Dean nods. Speaking in metaphors has never been his strong point, but being exposed to Castiel’s way of thinking, even just through his rooms, has opened up compartments of Dean’s brain that he didn’t even know existed. Castiel seems to understand that Dean is talking about dating - courting, even - and the smile that spreads on his lips is… breathtaking. His teeth are straight on the top and bottom, white as pearls, and the corners of his eyes crinkle attractively.

“Good. I haven’t had a full course meal in far too long.”

Warm fuzzies settle in Dean’s tummy to replace the arousal that had surged there just minutes prior, and he’s satisfied in the change. With that settled he returns his attention to the menu, putting his thumbnail between his teeth as he thinks.

“What wouldn’t you recommend?” Dean finally asks Castiel. Charlie and Sam are caught in a heated conversation about what they want to happen next in Game of Thrones, totally oblivious to the cloud of sexual tension that is slowly starting to dissipate.

“Mmm,” Castiel looks over the menu as well, finishing off his plate of sushi. He wipes his hands on his napkin, “I haven’t tried a single thing here that I dislike. What are your preferences?” His tone turns teasing. “No tofu, I assume.”

Immaturely, Dean replies, “Bleh.”

“Their marinated beef is superb,” Castiel supplies, pointing to an item on the menu listed as ‘galbi’. “Short ribs with rice and vegetables.”

“Huh,” Dean reads the description along with Castiel’s voice, before nodding. “Worth a shot.”

Castiel picks up another plate of sushi when it passes, setting it down in front of him. The waitress comes back with their drinks and takes Dean’s order, disappearing again. Dean takes a drink of his beer and widens his eyes a little when Castiel holds a piece of sushi up in his general direction.

“Uh,” is Dean’s smart reply.

“Have you even tried it,” Castiel asks, “or do you just dislike it on principal?”

Sam butts in, “He hasn’t tried any of it. Sushi, tofu, the works.”

“So then,” Castiel sounds a lot like a preschool teacher, “how do you know you dislike it?”

Stubbornly, Dean crosses his arms over his chest, one hand still holding his beer. “I don’t wanna.”

“I’ve been trying for years, Castiel,” Sam says with a sigh. Gilda and Charlie nod solemnly as well.

Castiel puts the sushi in his own mouth, letting out a happy little moan. “More for me I suppose.”

Dean’s eyes watch the way Castiel’s strong jaw works under his tanned, stubbled skin, and then rips his gaze away when Castiel sends him a small smirk. “Right.”

“So Castiel,” Charlie speaks up, catching the man’s attention and, thankfully, diverting it from Dean. “How long have you been in business?”

Castiel offers a warm smile, the fond look he gets in his eyes when he talks about his venture stirring something familial within Dean. “Three and a half years.”

“And this is all you do for income?” Charlie asks. 

Nodding, Castiel takes a drink of his water, “It pays the bills comfortably. At first business was slow… I almost lost everything. But then word started getting out, and people all over the world were opening their own escape businesses - and Google became my best friend.”

Charlie’s smile is warm and impressed. “It’s really admirable that you went to those lengths to do something you’re passionate about.”

Castiel looks a little shy. “I wasn’t… fulfilled, in my other career. It wasn’t a choice I made for myself and I was never comfortable.”

“Overbearing parents?” Dean hazards a guess.

Picking up another piece of sushi, Castiel nods. “Incredibly. I had a very strict upbringing, and even my being in theater in high school threatened to cause an irreparable rift between myself and my parents. But…” he smiles absently. “In the end, drifting apart from them was inevitable.”

“That’s kinda dark,” Charlie says, tone wondrous. 

“Well, when your father is a priest and your mother his dutiful, gender-role-specific wife, it gets a little easier to separate yourself as you grow older,” Castiel says with a little chuckle.

“Ouch,” Charlie nods.

“Fuck gender roles,” Dean says, holding up his beer.

“Here, here!” Charlie agrees, as her and Gilda’s beverages come up to clink against Dean’s.

Dean feels Castiel’s presence warm next to him, “In any case, I still have my brother Gabriel. He was the only one I could relate to. Not because he was queer, but just because he was… odd.” Castiel’s expression goes thoughtful. “Sort of a black sheep.”

“What does he do?” Sam asks. No one seems to be too stunned about Castiel outing himself.

“He is also a business owner,” Castiel says, his smile turning a bit secretive, the glint in his eyes playful. “I’m sure at least one of the people present has patronized his store.”

“Oh?” Dean arches a brow. “What’s his business called?”

“The Garden of Eden,” Castiel says, finally putting his sushi in his mouth to cover his grin, even though his eyes crinkle with mirth.

“You brother owns a sex shop?” Dean asks, incredulous.

“A sex shop named after a biblical reference?” Charlie laughs, throwing her head back and nearly falling off of her stool. “I can’t imagine which of you your parents hate more!”

“Considering Gabriel is heterosexual, my parents send him Christmas cards and can’t even be bothered to send me coal,” Castiel shrugged.

“Brutal,” Charlie whispers.

“It honestly doesn’t bother me,” Castiel says, making sure to look at everyone individually. He’s clearly making sure no one sends him any pitying glances. “My life improved the moment I ostracized myself from them. And like I said, I still have Gabriel - so I’m not entirely alone.”

“Well the cool thing about being an adult is that you can choose who to surround yourself with,” Charlie says through a mouthful of sushi, “and who you choose becomes your new family.”

Castiel smiles, the action small, but warm. “That is very true.”

Dean wants to say something cheesy like ‘you’re a part of our family now’, but thankfully better judgment keeps his mouth shut. Castiel is quite a lovely man, inside and out, and Dean is very much looking forward to getting to know him, but… he’s scared off people in the past, before, for being a bit too clingy. Needy. Forward. He doesn’t want to ruin a good thing before it starts.

When his food comes he finds it to be delicious, and the rest of lunch passes with easy conversation, the ebb and flow and comfort of it all filling Dean up right alongside his barbecued beef. Castiel’s hand touches his knee occasionally when he wants Dean’s attention, and when Castiel laughs the pitch of it swirls and settles deep into Dean’s belly. Getting to know the man outside of work is truly something else, and Dean is glad that his friends thought to extend the invite. Not that Dean is chicken shit, he just… moves at a much slower, more… cowardly pace.

After lunch comes to an end they all bid Castiel farewell, and as Dean drives himself and Sam back to his house, he feels content in a way that he hasn’t felt in quite a long time.

He wonders what Castiel has in store for them, next Sunday.

“Dean,” Sam says suddenly, “did you get his number?”

Dean slams his hands on the steering wheel. “Son of a _bitch_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i shitpost a lot, but i love talking to people on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)  
> this is a slow build so if you've stuck with me so far while greedily reading the tags, i appreciate you!  
> i don't have an update schedule but i imagine i will _try_ to update at least 2x a week  
>  comments and kudos feed me better than burgers feed dean  
> xo


	3. Fright Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! wow i didn't think it was gonna take me this long to update but this chapter was stupidly hard to write. i scrapped so much and re-wrote so much... ugh.  
> if you've stuck around to wait, welcome back! i appreciate you.  
> if you're new: hello! welcome. i also appreciate you.  
> a bit of editing but i wanted to publish this asap so if there are any mistakes, they'll probably be corrected at a later date.

On the third Sunday since discovering the escape rooms, Sam answers his vibrating phone a bit distractedly, his other hand holding his Kindle. Dean is lounging on the couch after fixing them a hearty breakfast, trying not to stare down the clock to wait for it to count down until noon. It’s barely ten as it is, and he knows he’ll drive himself up a wall if he keeps staring at the moving hands on his Chevy emblem clock - but he just can’t help it. After forgetting to get Castiel’s number last week Dean’s been a bit on edge, which he feels bad for; his testy temper had gotten on the bad side of his most peppy employee, Garth, and when Garth isn’t shooting sunbeams out of his ass he can be quite a pain. Dean is glad for the day off for more than one reason, for sure.

“‘Lo?” Sam answers when he puts his phone up to his ear. He sets down his Kindle, straightening a bit in the recliner. “Hey, Cas.”

Dean almost falls off the couch, he shoots up so quickly. He bangs his knee on the coffee table and Sam snickers at him, obviously doing his best not to laugh too hard so he doesn’t miss what Castiel is saying.

“Really?” Sam’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Dean can’t hear words specifically, but through the tinny speaker Castiel’s gravelly voice travels, and Dean knows about mouth watering but is it possible for ears to water? For ears to want to get a nice heaping dose of a certain tune? He thinks so. “Dude- are you serious? That would be- yeah, man.” Sam laughs. “No, I totally agree. Most definitely. Yeah, we’ll be there.” He hangs up the phone and sends Dean a smile, but doesn’t say anything.

Dean resists growling, because he’s not an animal. “What did he say?” 

“He had a proposition,” Sam says.

Dean’s fingers are gripping the arm of the couch so hard he’s denting the leather. “ _And_?”

“He wants to take us to an escape room.”

Dean squints. “... What.”

Sam, the asshole, laughs. “As in- he wants to go to one that he doesn’t own. There’s one in the next town over that just opened a new room and he wants to try it. Says we can get in for free.”

“Huh,” Dean finally lets go of the couch, idly smoothing out the dents with his palm. He thinks about the last room they have left to do, “The scary one is the only one we haven’t done, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, sliding his phone into his pocket as he stands. 

Dean wrinkles his nose, “I’m ok with skipping that one in favor of trying a room with Cas.”

“I bet he’s amazing,” Sam says as he moves towards the bathroom, flicking on the light. When the door shuts so he can do his business, Dean stands.

Castiel practically _sings_ his praises about Sam and Dean’s skills in his rooms, so it’s really no surprise that he’d like to team up with them and do a room himself. Dean feels smug with that knowledge as he walks up the stairs and towards the master bedroom, intent on changing out of his pajama pants and finding something decent to wear. Jeans and a dark grey henley are his go-to, and he pulls them on before he can change his mind. It’s a group outing, and Charlie and Gilda will still be tagging along, so Dean doesn’t get dressed up - even though he’s inclined to do so.

Which is stupid.

By the time he exits his room he sees the guest bedroom light on, Sam undoubtedly inside and getting changed out of his own lounge clothes. Dean trods down the wooden steps to the living room again, taking pause, forgetting what he was going to do once he got dressed. 

“Hey,” he calls up the stairs, “Is it the normal time or are we heading over early?”

“He said to come when we could,” Sam calls back.

Dean grabs his phone off the coffee table to send a text to Charlie, telling her to get ready. She sends back a flurry of emojis and he snorts, shaking his head fondly. He’s really glad that the girls are as into the rooms as they are. The more the merrier - not to mention Charlie and Gilda are also incredibly smart.

Sam’s giant feet come clodding down the stairs, signalling for Dean to grab his wallet and keys and pack them away.

“Ready?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, are Charlie and Gilda?” Sam asks, buttoning up his flannel.

“Probably,” Dean shrugs, then grins. “If not we’ll throw them in the car in their pajamas.”

\--

Charlie and Gilda are, in fact, ready when Dean pulls up to Gilda’s house. They get into the back seat of the Impala, chattering excitedly about doing a room with Castiel.

“I’ll bet he’s awesome,” Charlie echoes Sam’s thought from earlier. “Can you imagine? He’ll probably leave us all in the dust.”

“He seems the type to take his time,” Dean comments idly as he pulls on to the main road that leads to the escape room. 

“Oh, I’ll bet he does,” Charlie says, a playfully sensual edge to her voice.

Dean’s ears get hot and he stays quiet, because he has nothing nice to say. Charlie’s words remind Dean just how much he’s fantasized about Castiel’s methodical hands and thoughtful gaze - how much he’s thought about how _easy_ it would be for Castiel to pick him apart, piece by piece. He hasn’t jacked off this much since he was a teenager, and he feels like a hot mess every time he comes, but he can’t help it. There’s just so much… _promise_ in Castiel’s eyes whenever he regards Dean with those intense dark blues.

“What’s the theme of the room we’re doing?” Gilda asks.

“He didn’t say,” Sam says, but something about the way he shifts in his seat tells Dean otherwise. He doesn’t press, and Sam keeps talking. “He said we’d all really like it though.”

No more is said when Dean pulls into the parking spot in front of the business; Charlie moves over in the back seat to make room for Castiel, who is waiting outside for them. He’s wearing light denim jeans and a faded Zeppelin tee, hair more messy than ever, and Dean internally groans as the other man gives a small wave and then makes his way to the car.

“Heya!” Charlie pushes open the back door for him. 

“Hello,” Castiel greets verbally as he gets inside. He shuts the door and starts to buckle himself in, “Thank you for the ride, Dean.”

“No problem buddy,” Dean says honestly as he starts backing out of the parking lot. “S’it gonna be ok to close up shop?” 

“If a booking comes in I have an employee on call,” Castiel explains. 

Dean nods. “So: where to?”

“Topeka,” Castiel says, and there’s a small smile in his voice. Dean glances up in the rear view mirror to catch the slight crinkle of Castiel’s eyes and he feels warm as he follows the directions. “A friend of mine runs an escape company there. He just opened a new room and would like us to be the test group.”

“What’s a test group do?” Charlie asks, her shoulder bumping against Castiel’s when Dean hits a speed bump exiting the parking lot.

“A test group helps collect the data the game masters need in order to successfully run the room,” Castiel starts saying. His voice is deep as ever over the purr of the car, words straightforward. Dean has the idle thought that Castiel would have been an amazing teacher. “It helps us learn how long it takes for people to ask for help - what they ask for help on - and whether or not the puzzles are efficient enough to help a group escape within the time frame.”

“Ooooh,” Charlie grins huge. “Hey- when you open a new room can we be your test group?”

Castiel chuckles softly, “I’m afraid that data would be inconclusive. You all are much too good for me to get any good stats.”

“So you need a box of rocks to try out your rooms?” Dean asks, teasing tone to his voice.

“I need _average_ people,” Castiel says, voice flat, but when Dean catches his eyes in the rear view mirror he sees the mirth in them.

“We’ll take the compliment,” Dean says as he pulls on to I-70.

The windows are all rolled down as they drive, summer air warm and balmy as it whips through their hair. Classic rock is filtering through the speakers and no one dares ask Dean to change the station - he won’t, thank you very much - and a comfortable silence falls over all of them. Charlie and Dean sing along to AC/DC eventually while Sam and Gilda suffer in (amused) silence. Castiel has his arm hanging out of the window, gaze watching the scenery as it passes, oblivious to Dean’s eyes that occasionally glance at him in the mirror. There’s the smallest of smiles on his lips, and Dean suddenly realizes that he’d like to have Castiel for a ride along in the _front_ seat. Just the two of them.

Wow, what a thought.

Once in Topeka Castiel directs them towards a strip mall that looks similar to the one Castiel’s business is in; Dean parks the car and they all get out, the _crrrrrrk_ of the doors music to Dean’s ears, no matter how much Sam tells him to WD-40 them. A man comes out of the front door and Castiel immediately goes to greet him, shaking his hand before enveloping him in a hug. 

Dean tamps down any weird feeling that arises in his gut at the display.

“Welcome,” the blond man greets. “I’m so glad you brought some lambs to slaughter.” His accent rounds the words and makes them sound way more pleasant than they actually are, and Castiel - Castiel _laughs_.

“This is the group I was telling you about,” Castiel says, making a sweeping motion towards the friends gathered by the hood of the car.

“The ones that obliterated your rooms?” The man asks, brows raised.

“The very ones,” Dean replies, before taking a step forward. His hackles are raised slightly as he extends a hand, “Dean Winchester.”

The man clearly sees the challenge, his lips quirking in a smirk, blue eyes glittering like he knows a secret as he shakes Dean’s hand strongly. “Pleasure, Dean. I’m Balthazar.”

“Dean, put your dick away,” Sam says as he approaches. He holds out his hand with a much more friendly smile and demeanor, too used to being the one to dump water on the fire. “Sam Winchester. This is Charlie, and Gilda.”

Balthazar lets go of Dean’s hand to shake Sam’s with a much friendlier smile, and Dean shoves his hands in his pockets as he sulks. A touch on the back of his elbow makes him turn to see Castiel regarding him curiously, and Dean tilts his head down at him.

“What?”

“Balthazar is my cousin,” Castiel says.

Dean might pass out.

Sam, Charlie and Gilda all burst out into obnoxious laughter, Charlie even going so far as to brace herself on the car to keep herself from falling over. Dean folds his arms over his chest maturely, rolling his eyes and turning his back on his friends as he squints at Castiel.

“You couldn’t have lead with that?” he gruffs.

The very corners of Castiel’s lips quirk, “Am I obligated to?”

Green eyes widen and Dean blinks in surprise, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. He clears his throat, “Uh- no. You’re right. I uh. You’re not obli-” he swallows. “You’re not obligated.”

Thankfully his friends get occupied by letting Balthazar lead them into the building, and Castiel hangs back with Dean as the mechanic calms himself. Way to go all Alpha Male, idiot. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and lets out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

“Sorry man, I’m an asshole.” 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is soft, making Dean glance up into his beautiful (God damn) eyes. “Would you like me to be obligated?”

“That’s-” Dean lets out a surprised, breathless laugh. “C’mon, Cas.” But Castiel’s gaze is unwavering and Dean feels like he’s looking straight into his soul, so Dean gives a slightly noncommittal shrug. “I guess… yeah, I do.” 

“Then I will be,” Castiel’s smile widens slightly, but not enough to show teeth. It’s still warm and makes Dean’s stomach flip over like a teenage girl. “But I require wining-and-dining first.”

“Oh,” Dean laughs, nodding with a grin as he remembers their conversation about partaking in a full course meal. Metaphorically, y’know. “I can wine and dine.”

“Hopefully as well as you strategize,” Castiel says as he pulls away to head into the building.

Dean gapes after him.

Challenge accepted.

\--

Balthazar has pretty much the same spiel as Castiel does for his pre-orientation. He breezes through it and when he’s done, he starts handing out flashlights.

“There are five of you,” he says, turning on each flashlight as he passes it out, “however I do not have a flashlight for each of you.”

That catches interest from everyone, and it’s Sam that asks, “Uh… why?”

Balthazar offers a sunny smile, “The room is pitch black. So few flashlights encourages you to break off into groups and work on different things at the same time. You have quite a bit of ground to cover.”

“Uh,” Dean raises his hand and waits for Balthazar to indicate him to speak, “why is the room pitch black?”

“Didn’t Cassie tell you?” Balthazar’s smile turns wicked. “You’re doing our haunted room.”

Dean leans forward, elbows on knees as he points at Sam with terribly concealed anger. “You _knew_.”

Sam smiles placatingly, but doesn’t say a word. Dean reaches over Charlie and snags the flashlight from Sam’s hand, glaring - and then Castiel is tossing Sam his flashlight, making Dean look at the other incredulously.

“Now we can be partners,” Castiel says simply.

“Oh,” Dean says smartly.

“Now, if you’ll all leave your flashlights on and wait patiently,” Balthazar makes his way to the door of the waiting room, his smile sinful, “ _someone_ will be right with you.”

He leaves, and the lights click off.

Dean tenses; now… he’s not a wimp. Ok? He’s not. He’s big and strong and masculine and can definitely bench press Charlie, easy. He can change a flat tire in a hail storm and pop open a beer bottle using his friggin’ bicep, _ok_? Shit like this won’t freak him out. He’s seen scarier, for sure. Hell, his mortgage was the source of his nightmares for two whole months before his credit score raised back up again.

So when the door slams open and a hooded figure enters, if Dean screams in surprise, it’s no one’s business but his own.

Thankfully everyone else is just as surprised - the figure is wearing black robes from head to toe, a black mesh mask concealing whatever face is underneath it. There’s a noose hung around its neck and a skeleton hand holding a lantern and the effect is definitely creepy as a weird, rasping voice starts to speak.

“Welcome… to the final trial of your… initiation.”

Dean gulps.

A gnarled, bony finger makes a sweeping gesture at all of them, “You will spend sixty minutes inside one of the world’s most _infamously_ haunted manors.” It coughs, wheezes, then continues. “Decades ago, multiple missing person reports began surfacing about people who had stayed in a… certain room… within the manor. After an entire family went missing… the community demanded that Room 13 be sealed, and the whole manor… CONDEMNED!” 

The last word is screeched and Dean yelps, slapping his hand over his mouth, feeling his heart thundering in his chest. Charlie snorts, Gilda covers her mouth politely - but Sam laughs outright and slaps his knee, the asshole. Folding his arms across his chest Dean grumbles, bouncing his foot idly in irritation.

Castiel’s hand on his bouncing knee helps it to stop, and Dean sneaks a glance over at the other man, who is dutifully paying attention to the spectre and his speech - even if his eyes are glimmering with amusement. 

“I will lead you to the back gate,” the creature rasps. “It is your job to gain entry into the manor, find your way… through… and then get to the other side, where your trial will be completed.”

The creature opens the door and starts to exit, some fog rolling in on the floor. Everyone stands - Dean a little bit slower than others - and moves to follow. The hallway outside is just as dark, the blinds drawn at the front of the building to make sure no outside light pours in. With their flashlights to guide them they follow the creature down towards a room; it opens the door and gestures for them to enter. There’s a creepy soundtrack playing - sound effects of wind, branches, breathing, wolves - and more fog. Once inside the door slams behind them and Dean flinches, closing his eyes, letting out a breath as a gong sounds, signifying the start of the game.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes out.

“Oho, Dean-o,” Charlie pats him on the shoulder, cackling. “I would pay just to see you freak out over cheesy crap like this.”

“Shut up,” he says defensively.

“Play nice kids,” Sam says, shining his flashlight around. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

“Switchboard,” Charlie announces as she turns around, flipping a few of the levers. She shines her flashlight on it and counts, “Twenty-five, in five-by-five rows and columns.”

Sam’s flashlight swivels, before it lands on a fence against the wall, the spikes of it alternating a red and green pattern. “Are the lights red and green?”

“Yep!”

“Alright, start in this order.”

While they work on that together, with Gilda staying by Charlie’s side, Dean starts shining his flashlight on the adjacent wall. It’s covered in tombstones. Castiel stays quiet as he follows the beam of Dean’s flashlight; he’s standing close, their arms touching, and Dean is pretty sure it’s so Castiel doesn’t lose the light, but at the same time, he thinks it might have to do with their outside conversation.

Dean finds himself smiling, but he’s shaken out of it quickly when Castiel’s warmth leaves his side. He swings the flashlight towards where the other man is rummaging; there’s fake leaves and ivy ‘growing’ in the corner and Castiel is on his knees, reaching inside and feeling around. Dean does his best not to stare at his surprisingly perfect ass and the way the denim stretches over it but hey, he’s a red-blooded man, alright? Castiel pulls out a box and stands, turning it over, Dean supplying more light so he can see and act more interested in the discovery than the anatomy of the game master.

“Tormented,” Dean reads on the underside of the box.

“One of the tombstones says ‘tormented’,” Castiel says, eyes lifting towards the wall. Dean lights them up, surprised that Castiel had remembered that - he trains his flashlight on the correct tombstone, 1863 etched into the fake stone, and then turns his flashlight down towards the lock Castiel is currently turning.

Once the box is open, Castiel pulls out a smaller box, expertly solving the complicated looking tumblers and retrieving a key from within.

Dean claps him on the shoulder, “Good job buddy.”

“Sam,” Castiel calls for the other brother’s attention, “here.”

Sam takes the key from Castiel and unlocks the iron gate separating them from a door on the far side of the room. Balthazar had mentioned that this was a multi-room experience, but as far as Dean can tell, the rooms aren’t going to be standard squares or rectangles. They pass through the gate and once they’re on the other side Charlie points up towards the ceiling at a red light blinking slowly.

“The switchboard turned that on but we couldn’t see the numbers until now!” She moves towards the door and punches in the four-digit code, opening it up to the other side.

Before anyone can pass through a clown in a lab coat pops in, shrieking maniacal laughter and causing everyone to jump back in surprise. Dean screams. The clown scurries off and Charlie is laughing and gasping, clutching at her chest while Sam peers into the next room.

“Coast is clear,” Sam says, before heading in.

Dean puts his hand on a wall, other hand on his hip as he tries to catch his breath. “Fuckin’ clowns…”

Everyone slowly filters in after Sam, flashlights scanning every inch of what they can see. To the left is a door without a handle marked ROOM 13, and out to the right is what looks like a hotel lobby, complete with a receptionist desk. Ahead is a strange jut in the wall that breaks up the floor plan; Dean goes to investigate that, running his hands along the edges, trying to calm his heart rate a little. 

The sound of Charlie and Gilda searching the desk drawers almost drowns out the creepy soundtrack playing overhead, but the distant sound of chains rattling distracts Dean momentarily.

“Does that sound like part of the soundtrack?” Dean asks, trying to keep his voice from cracking. 

“Does what sound like part of the soundtrack?” Sam asks. 

Castiel may as well be a ghost, moving around quietly and investigating things. Everyone pauses, though, to try and hear what Dean was talking about. Of course the rattling doesn’t happen again, and everyone but Dean shrugs it off. Shaking out his hands, Dean turns towards the desk to start helping Charlie and Gilda organize what they’ve been finding. A few laminated strips of paper, each labeled with different ‘floors’ of the hotel; a letter from the long passed owner of the mansion; a to-do list; and finally, a log book.

Dean picks up a letter, reading the bloody font carefully, “ _My eye was gouged by my enemy. Return it to me, and I will show you the secrets within._ ” He snorts. “Creepy.” 

“Eyeball,” Castiel says. Dean turns to see him pulling out a glass eyeball from within a fake potted plant, and they both start looking around.

“Return it to me,” Dean recites, before his eyes land on a portrait of a very, very creepy man above the electric fireplace in the corner. “I think it belongs to that handsome mug.”

Castiel is smiling small as they walk over, Dean’s flashlight guiding them. Castiel reaches up and presses the eyeball to the where the man in the portrait is missing his eye - the door to Room 13 swings open and a blood-curdling scream accompanies it, causing Dean to jump back in surprise, clutching his chest.

“I’m so glad Castiel brought us here,” Charlie says reverently.

“Shut up,” Dean snips, stalking into the room as Castiel sets down the eyeball atop the fireplace and follows him.

Together they start searching. There’s a mattress with a white, bloody fitted sheet leaned up against a wall, a matching white sheet with different blood spatter tossed haphazardly on the floor next to it. A grandfather clock is in the narrow corner - the room is sort of an obtuse triangular shape - and a nightstand contains a birthday card, a few more ‘floors’, and a gruesome painting.

“Whoever did the art for this room is fucked up,” Dean says, examining the painting. Three clowns holding balloons, fangs, blood, the works. He flips it over, reading _To reveal my secrets, I need to feel the warmth of the inferno_. 

Castiel picks up a stuffed dog from under the bed, fingering the collar. “Kaitlan.”

Dean glances over at a stuffed clown doll shoved unceremoniously in the belly of the grandfather clock, eyeing it warily. “I’m uh, gonna go put this painting in the fire.” He leaves, and because he’s without flashlight, Castiel follows him while still holding the dog.

Gilda is holding the receiver to a rotary phone, working on dialing a phone number while Charlie holds the flashlight steady. Sam is standing at the whiteboard, marker in hand, and everyone seems pretty occupied. It feels similar to Castiel’s rooms - how different people can work on different things all at once - and Dean has to wonder which man decided to go after this endeavor first.

“Hey,” Dean says to Castiel as the other man fiddles with the settings on the fireplace. “What’s Balthazar’s story?”

“He’s an entrepreneur,” Castiel says simply. He exchanges the puppy for the painting, holding the macabre art up to the vent where the warm air is filtering through. “He’s got multiple businesses that he owns. He’s rarely even in the country unless he’s working on something specific.”

“And the accent?” Dean does his best to sound like he doesn’t dislike the guy, idly wringing the stuffed toy in his hands.

“He’s distantly related,” Castiel replies, pulling the painting away from the fire and examining it. “He used to stay with my family every summer.”

“Does it bother you that he also owns an escape business?” 

“No,” Castiel says, holding up the painting to show Dean the 4-digit combination that magically appeared in the balloons of the creepy clowns. He smiles, this time with teeth, the artificial glare from the flashlight casting odd shadows on his face. “Mine are much better.”

Dean laughs, taking the painting back and pressing the toy into Castiel’s waiting hands. “I bet.”

Charlie lets out a surprised scream from over by the desk, and Dean and Castiel look over just in time to see a drawer pop open against her hip.

“Jesus,” Charlie laughs, reaching inside the drawer as Gilda hangs up the phone. She pulls out a binder, “Manual Override…?” She opens it up and starts flipping through it, “Oh, hey. This is the instructions to some sort of fuse box.”

Castiel picks up two small fuses from the desk, examining them. “Have we figured out where these go?”

“Betcha it has something to do with this door that says ‘high voltage’,” Dean says sarcastically, moving over towards said door. Using the combination on the creepy painting he unlocks the door, swinging it open. “Jackpot.” He swivels his flashlight; there are two fuse boxes and one control panel. “Charlie, bring that over?” 

Charlie and Dean squeeze into the closet-sized space, shoulder to shoulder as Charlie starts reading the instructions. Gilda, Sam and Castiel all hang close by, listening and watching as best as they can - a chain rattles nearby, close enough that Dean glances down at the floor by his feet, his hand frozen on the ‘discharge’ switch on the control panel.

“Ok, you guys heard that, right?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie says, glancing around the walls. “Creepy.” 

Dean grits his teeth, trying to shake off the edgy feeling broiling in his gut. The last instruction says to flip the ‘discharge’ switch, and when he does so, he and Charlie both scream in surprise when firecrackers go off overhead. At the same time Gilda and Sam let out a surprised yell, something swinging open and slamming against the box Charlie and Dean are inside.

Sam laughs, “A cupboard opened!”

“This fucking room,” Dean is already stepping out of the box and getting as far away from it as possible, face screwed up in an annoyed frown. “You haven’t been scared _once_.” Dean accuses Castiel, pointing across the desk at him.

Castiel shrugs, offering a small smile. “Balthazar had to learn his tricks from somewhere.”

Dean throws up his hands. “Fuckin’ great.” 

Gilda kneels down on the ground in front of the open cupboard; there are clear goggles embedded in the wall and two holes stacked vertically on top of each other below it. Gilda reaches fearlessly inside one of the holes and finds a rope, yanking on it - in the other hole, behind the glass, a disembodied head screams, red lights flashing around it as it bounces grotesquely around.

“Do it again,” Sam says, moving forward so he can peer through the goggles. Gilda complies, and Sam wriggles his body this way and that as he hunches awkwardly over the kneeling woman, angling his head and his eyes around. “Oh- someone write this down.”

Dean moves over to the whiteboard, figuring he’s safe there, grabbing the marker. 

“Five… two, six- one... six.”

Writing it down as neatly as possible with slightly trembling fingers, Dean nods. “Got it. What else do we have to unlock in here?”

“This lock is letters,” Gilda says, pointing to a locked cupboard next to the one they just opened, sitting back on her haunches.

“Here,” Castiel moves towards the door on the awkward wall, and Dean moves to watch him input the combination. Castiel’s fingers are… beautiful, long and strong, nails neatly manicured as he spins the combination lock around until he gets the proper numbers in. 

He pops open the lock and the door slides open, and immediately a figure in a lab coat with a rotten bunny mask darts through, shrieking as it goes. Dean screams and jumps towards Castiel, crowding the slightly smaller man against the wall as he watches the bunny gallop through the original door they came through, disappearing around the corner with more shrieking laughter. Once the bunny is gone Dean curses loudly while Castiel laughs and rubs a soothing hand over his back, the pair of them still pressed against the wall.

“I think someone has it out for you,” Sam says helpfully, smirking knowingly at Dean as he passes them to enter the next room.

“Shouldn’t have screamed during orientation,” Charlie says with a sigh and a shake of her head, patting Dean on the shoulder as she, too, passes. “Easy target.”

Gilda says nothing, but she’s hiding a smile behind her hand all the same as she follows her girlfriend and Sam.

Squinting, Dean is still tense. “I don’t like this.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel’s voice brings Dean’s attention back towards him, and Dean finally realizes just how much he’s crowding Castiel against the wall. Their bodies are practically fused together, one of Castiel’s hands on Dean’s shoulder, the other braced on the taller man’s hip.

Flushing, and thankful that the darkness of the room hides it, Dean pulls away. “Uh- sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Castiel says dryly, pushing away from the wall once he has room. “Are you going to make it?” 

Dean wants to be offended, insulted or something, he really does - but Castiel looks like he’s _actually_ concerned about Dean and well… that’s cute as hell. So Dean offers a small smile and rubs the back of his neck, nodding. “Yeah- yeah I’ll be fine. Let’s just kick this room’s ass.”

Castiel nods and gestures for Dean to go through the door, and then they’re both shuffling into the small space alongside the others, the five of them crowding it up nicely. 

“An elevator,” Charlie says, ducking out of the door and returning quickly with all of the floors they’ve been gathering. She kneels down, starting to arrange them on the floor. “‘First, visit the pool.’ What level is the pool on?”

Everyone looks over to the wall where all of the floors are listed. 

“Three,” Gilda says. 

Charlie presses the corresponding elevator button, grinning. “Sweet. Let’s try to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Someone should check our time,” Sam says, before looking at Dean with a conspiratorial grin. “Dean, go see.” 

“Why me?” Dean immediately asks defensively.

“We’re busy,” Sam says. Really, only Charlie and Gilda are busy with the puzzle. “Hurry up, we might not have much time left.”

Bristling, Dean mutters and leaves the elevator, training the flashlight on the floor as he walks. “You comin’ Cas?”

“I think my services are needed here,” Castiel says, but there’s amusement in his voice.

“ _Fine_ ,” Dean says, long and exaggerated as he ducks through the first locked door they opened. He takes a deep breath, walking slowly through the gate and towards the entry door, looking up at the digital clock. 17:32 blinks back at him and he lets out a breath of relief, turning around to start heading back. The beam of his flashlight moves to the gates and there’s a person standing there, making Dean jump back in surprise. “Jesus!”

The figure is shrouded in all black, with the face of what looks like a broken doll. The head tilts slowly to the side and it looks like the bones in its neck are going to snap due to the angle, making Dean take a few cautious steps backwards.

“Guys…?”

He hears their voices in the elevator and Charlie’s celebratory cheer, no doubt because they opened the door to the other side. No one heard him. The shrouded figure steps forward, the motion jerky and looking like film caught on a tangled loops, and Dean takes another step back.

“Alright buddy,” Dean says, “I know I signed a waiver and all of that bullshit but I am _not_ above body slamming some creepy baby doll.”

The figure stops, its head jerking in the opposite direction. Dean holds his breath. The figure lets out an ear-splitting wail and is suddenly charging towards Dean and Dean braces himself for impact… and then blinks when it never comes. He looks around the room, shocked to find himself alone, and good God, what the fuck was that? He hurries back towards the elevator and almost knocks Gilda over when he jumps inside, apologizing and helping keep her upright.

“What was that noise?” she asks Dean as he looks over his shoulder out towards the lobby, her hands gripping Dean’s forearms.

“Some weird… ghost thing,” Dean says. “I think it was a hologram.”

“Balthazar is very high-tech,” Castiel’s voice says from the next room. Dean moves past Gilda so he can look into the narrow hallway that Castiel, Sam and Charlie are all occupying. “Did it look cool?”

Dean grumbles under his breath. “Sure.” 

“I believe there is still one more lock we need to work on,” Castiel says as he makes his way back into the elevator. “Let’s go work on that while these guys figure out the pictures.” He’s grabbing Dean’s hand and leading him out of the cramped space and back into the lobby area. Dean lets out a breath, thankful to be pulled away from the others, his anxiety still bubbling uncomfortably in his gut.

“Thanks,” he says to Castiel. 

Castiel sends him a small smile, letting go of his hand and leading him back into Room 13. “So far the only thing we haven’t used is the bed. I am pretty sure this will give us the combination for that last lock.”

Following, Dean nods as he picks up the crumpled sheet off of the floor. There are arrows on two of the corners, and two arrows on the mattress, so he takes care in lining them up, fixing the bed as neatly as possible while it’s still upright. They both take a step back, Dean’s flashlight trained on the red splatters, their heads tilting the same way.

“W…” Dean squints as he reads the letter that appears. “It’s probably a word.”

Castiel crouches, pulling the sheet taut across the bottom. “Try indirect light.”

Unsure of how to accomplish that in a pitch black room, Dean puts his fingers in front of the flashlight, lighting his flesh up pink. Castiel takes a step back, head still tilted, eyes soaking up the splatters.

“Wrath,” Castiel says.

“Huh,” Dean squints. “Yeah- yeah I see it.”

They move out of the room and towards the locked cupboard, Castiel once again taking over inputting the combination. Dean can’t help but let his eyes watch the other man’s fingers, but when he opens the cupboard, Dean fixes his attention on that appropriately.

“‘Investigate, but do not remove’,” Dean reads. He stares at the arm-sized hole, the inside of which is invisible due to the darkness within. “I’m not puttin’ my arm in there.” 

Castiel obliges without a snarky comment, moving to bend slightly and put his arm in the hole. It’s deep, and he’s all the way up to his shoulder, the sound of his fingers tapping around on the wood inside coming through faintly. “There’s a lot of feathers and…” he frowns a little. “I think I’m touching an ear.”

Dean shudders. “That’s just cruel.”

“Oh,” Castiel blinks. “A button. I’ll hold it down…” his gaze starts looking around the room. “Did anything change?”

Dean turns to glance around as well, not seeing anything immediately that strikes him as different. He glances up a little higher over the false walls separating the spaces and sees a purple light coming from the hallway with the gate, “By the gate. Keep holdin’ the button, I’m gonna go check it out.”

Castiel is patient as Dean leaves him, and when Dean is out by the gate his eyes land on what looks like a word map drawn on the wall in invisible ink. He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, “You gotta be shitting me.” He raises his voice, “Guys, I found another puzzle.”

Sam, Charlie and Gilda all shuffle back from the first hallway, joining Dean to look up at the map.

“Wowzers,” Charlie says.

Sam reaches up to where the maze indicates them to start, “F...o...l… Follow…” his finger traces along the maze. “Daughter… d...a… dad,” Charlie and Gilda run back into the lobby, chattering excitedly about finding names. “Mom… son. Follow daughter, dad, mom, son.”

The maze disappears and Dean and Sam return to the lobby, Castiel helping the girls gather all of the items with names on them. The stuffed dog with the collar, a hockey jersey with MJ written on the back, a birthday card addressed to Sarah, and finally, the logbook. Gilda is busily flipping through it while Charlie moves back to the hallway with the polaroids plastered on the walls, calling out the numbers correlating with the names. Sam is writing them down on the whiteboard, and finally Castiel points down at a page in the book, announcing Jordan as the father - known because he booked the hotel for the same date written in the card.

“Ok,” Sam starts writing again, “Daughter, dad, mom… son. 8452.”

Dean claps his hands and moves into the elevator and through the other side, meeting up with Charlie. He walks by a painting in the wall and pays it no mind - until a hand pushes through the stretchy fabric and grabs his shoulder, causing him to yelp and leap in the air, nearly landing on Charlie in his surprise. Gilda had been behind him and laughs loudly, covering her mouth to try and stifle the sound. Charlie punches in the code to the door and opens it and Dean barrels past her out into the hallway, hands on his knees as he bends over and tries to gasp for air. 

“Freaking ghosts, man!” 

The rest of the group filter out after him, all laughing (except for Castiel, and Dean sort of wonders if Castiel has ever been in hysterics before) and high-fiving each other on a job well done. Balthazar saunters down the lit hallway, slow-clapping for them with an amused smile.

“Good job, little lambs.” His eyes turn to Dean, a brow arching. “I see you all made it out alive.”

Dean glares at the blond, straightening himself and shaking out his hands and shoulders, cracking his neck. “No biggie.”

“Thank you, Balthazar,” Castiel says, smiling warmly. “That was a good room. The perfect difficulty level for a haunted house.”

Charlie nods, “Yeah, making the puzzles easier because of all the distractions happening was good.”

“What you mean is you’re thankful we had Dean with us to occupy all the ghouls while we did the actual leg work,” Sam says with a wry smile. He and Charlie share a high-five and Dean grouses, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Thank you, Cassie, for bringing such a lively bunch,” Balthazar says, as he turns so he can lead them back up to the front of the store. He collects their flashlights as they pass him by the desk, “I do hope you will come back and try my other rooms?”

There’s a general agreement from everyone, and Balthazar hugs Castiel goodbye as they all exit the building. Dean pulls his keys from his pocket and takes a deep breath, feeling the comforting weight of the key fob in his palm. 

“I apologize if that was too much,” comes Castiel’s voice to Dean’s left.

Dean turns to him and puts on a brave smile, “Too much? Psh, naw. I’ve seen girl scouts scarier than that.”

Castiel has a small smile on his lips, his eyes glimmering playfully. “Good to know. I wouldn’t want you to feel as though your masculinity has been threatened in any way.” He pauses. “And, I meant Balthazar.”

Dean squints. “...Thanks.” He shrugs idly, finding it oddly comforting that Castiel was apologizing on behalf of his obnoxious cousin, even though it was Dean who made a scene at first. “He was fine. Again: I’ve seen girl scouts scarier… and more annoying than that.”

This time Castiel offers a real laugh, putting a hand over his stomach as he chuckles.

“Let’s go to lunch!” Charlie declares, tapping the hood of Dean’s car.

As they all start piling into the black beast, Dean can’t help but smile to himself. The more time he gets to spend with Castiel, the more he’s determined to actually spend _time_ with Castiel.

Imagine that.

\--

**Castiel: Are your hands as strong as they look?**

Heat pools low in Dean’s belly as he pulls the text up on his phone. He’s in his office at the shop going over payroll and wanting to be anywhere but cooped up, and the vibration of his phone had been a welcome distraction - but perhaps not the smartest distraction when he’s covered in grease and he’s got three employees wandering in and out of the office for snacks and beverages. He scans over the message a few more times, like maybe he’d read it wrong, like maybe he’s _interpreting_ it wrong, but with no other context, he presses his tongue into his cheek as he types out his reply. 

**Dean: Depends on the task. I can be really gentle if I gotta.**

Setting his phone on the desk by his keyboard, he eyeballs it for a few moments, seeing ‘delivered’ still tagged underneath his text bubble. Ok. Ok, so they’re phone flirting. Text flirting. Flexting? Drumming his fingers over his keyboard without typing anything, Dean tries to calm himself. What if he typed the wrong response? What if he’s reading the situation wrong?

His mind’s eye supplies him with the image of Castiel eating sushi with a smug expression, eyes dark, free hand on Dean’s thigh. The heat swirling low in his gut flares up again and Dean shakes his head, rubbing his eyes. He’s not reading the situation wrong. He’s into Castiel, Castiel is into _him_ , and through texting off and on between doing bookings at the business (Sam and Dean have tried seven out of eleven, and have successfully completed them all) it’s only natural that they start flirting. This is normal. Dean has to keep reminding himself (although it’s Sam’s nagging voice in his head) that he’s worthy of receiving - and giving - this kind of attention.

When his phone vibrates again, Dean swipes to unlock and nearly chokes on his spit.

**Castiel: I need you to pound me.**

Frozen in his rolly chair, Dean gapes at his phone. The heat in his belly explodes like a supernova into the rest of his limbs and his fingers tremble as he picks up his phone, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. Good God he’s at _work_. This is too much.

His phone vibrates again, another text from Castiel.

**Castiel: I need you to pound some nails for me*.  
:)**

Groaning, Dean throws his phone onto the table and buries his face in his hands. There’s no way that was an accident. Missing entire words from a text is not an accident! Castiel is riling him up six ways from Sunday and it’s working embarrassingly well. Stilted fingers try to type in a few more things in the Excel sheet but then Dean is shoving the keyboard away with a grunt, standing up abruptly - and then promptly sitting back down when he feels the tent in his jumpsuit. He picks up his phone, shaking his head in amusement and… titillation, at the conversation. Two can play at this game.

**Dean: Got some hard wood for me?**

Yep. Dean has never text-flirted in his life, and normally he doesn’t even spell out all of his words - but something about texting with Castiel makes Dean want to seem like less of a dumb brute. Taking a few calming breaths he returns to payroll, going more by muscle memory and reflex than any actual thought as he tallies up his employee’s hours and makes sure he compensates them accordingly. By the time he’s done it’s nearing five o’clock and his phone hasn’t vibrated so either Castiel is busy, or trying to come up with a good reply. After he clocks out and says peace to his workers while they close up, stripped from his greasers and back in (clean) street clothes for the drive home, Dean finally feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

Settling behind the wheel of his car Dean pulls out his phone, chewing his lower lip as he reads over Castiel’s reply.

**Castiel: Like you would not believe.  
** **Can you come?**  
**Louisiana and 8th.**

Dean should really go home and shower before he traipses off to go see Castiel for the first time outside of doing rooms, he knows. But Castiel knows what he does for a living and seems to be looking for some help building at his new location, so why should Dean go and get clean if he’s just going to get dirty later? He contemplates for a moment, drumming his fingers along the curve of Baby’s steering wheel, before he thumbs out a reply.

**Dean: Be there in 15.**

If Castiel needs help with something other than building… well. Dean supposes they can cross that bridge when they get there.

After fifteen minutes he pulls up to a nondescript building, rolling his car into a parking space and shutting off the ignition. The door creaks as he gets out and he squints against the hot summer sun, looking along all of the windows to try and find where the entry door is. He doesn’t need to look for long because Castiel is rounding the corner from the back of the building - and Dean feels his mouth go dry, eyes taking in Castiel’s appearance as he approaches.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets, like he doesn’t look like something out of a cheesy porno. Worn denim jeans, a grey v-neck with a few artfully placed sweat stains, and a tool belt snug around his trim waist have Dean nearly tripping over himself. It’s like this that Dean is reminded of Castiel’s physique; slender but stacked, firm and solid and nothing soft about him.

“Heya,” Dean replies as soon as he unglues his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Lookin’ for a hand?” 

Castiel’s smile is warm but dark at the edges, as he nods and gestures for Dean to follow him. “I can usually handle all of the building myself, however today I’ve found that I need some help with heavy lifting.”

Nodding, Dean follows Castiel to the back of the building where, surprisingly, the entrance to the business is. “Little backwards, isn’t it?” 

Castiel nods, “I plan on re-locating the entry door to where the cars park, but for now I am more focused on adding another room.”

Once inside, Dean appreciates the air conditioning filtering through the vents. Castiel leads him past a receptionist area and down a wide hallway, back to where Dean knows his car is parked on the other side of the windows. A left, and then a tight right, and then Dean is whistling low under his breath.

“Damn, Cas, you do all this yourself?”

It’s a sprawling Old West town, and Dean takes in the craftsmanship with obvious interest and impression. To his right, a bank, to his left, a post office. Things look authentic as heck, most of the wood sanded down just enough to not catch splinters, stained dark and musty. There are all sorts of tools and equipment sprawled around, the only thing that indicates the falsehood of what Dean and Castiel are walking in to.

“Most of it. I have a contractor I do some work with, but I try not to hog too much of his time.” Castiel stands with his hands on his hips, looking around proudly at his work. 

That pride seeps into Dean a little bit, and the mechanic claps his hands together, his eyes trailing upwards. “This a shop space?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, leading Dean further inside. “I used to use this space as a wreck room for all of my props and puzzles, but I have a different rented space for all of that now. When I acquired this location all I could think about was putting a room in here.”

“It goes further than this?” Dean asks, stopping in front of a wall. There are three doors, each with crescent moons to indicate outhouses, and he reaches out to tug the middle door open. It leads through to the other side, and Dean blinks in surprise.

“Do you think an old west town only has a bank and a post office?” Castiel asks with a wry smile. “The ruffians need a little more than that.”

Excited, Dean steps through to the other side of the wall. Now he’s standing smack dab in the middle of a saloon; a curved bar top, shelves lined with bottles, and tables and chairs littering the space. “Ho-lee smokes.” To the left he peers through a door, marveling at the old fashioned pool table and accessories. “High roller lounge?”

“Exactly,” Castiel sounds pleased that Dean knows what’s what.

Walking further in, there’s a set of swinging doors that lead to yet another area. On the left side a sheriff’s office, and to the right - the gallows, complete with a wood structure and a noose. Dean whistles low under his breath, “Shit, Cas, this place is huge. This is all gonna be one room?”

“Ideally,” Castiel says. “I got a little carried away with the floor plan.” He almost sounds sheepish, but when Dean turns to look at him, the man has soft, suffused pride lingering in the corners of his smile. “This will be my biggest venture. Up to twenty people can play the entire town, or it can be shut by the doors in the middle, and mini-quests can be completed on either side separately in smaller groups.”

“Damn,” Dean’s grin widens. “And this is all your brain child.”

Castiel nods indulgently, “This room has been on my mind for a while.”

“Well-” Dean claps his palms together before rubbing them happily. “I can’t wait to run through it. Don’t think I know twenty people but hot damn, I’d put an ad out on Craigslist if I had to.”

“I was thinking…” Castiel says, and his tone of voice catches Dean’s attention. Unsure? Lacking confidence? Strange. “If you, Sam, Charlie and Gilda wanted to do this room, I could book it all day for you. Run it like a real town.” He smiles. “I’m already planning on a grand opening unlike any other room.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, curious. “Like with townsfolk and stuff?”

“A bank teller, a post office worker, a bartender, a sheriff, a prisoner, and a high roller in the lounge,” Castiel starts ticking off on his fingers. “All employees here to play their part while the customers work the rooms. I want to cater - with real food and drinks in the saloon. Make it a four-hour experience, which would give even small groups plenty of time to try and solve all of the puzzles.”

Dean reaches up and strokes the stubble on his chin idly. “You know, that sounds really cool. That wouldn’t be too much to set up?”

“Oh, it would be a lot to set up,” Castiel admits with a small chuckle. “But I think it would be worth it. You and Sam aren’t my only regulars. I know quite a few people who would gladly pay for the all-inclusive experience. I could also run specials once a month that run on the large scale for the general public to partake in.”

“Good way to drum up extra business and earn extra cash,” Dean says, and then snaps his fingers with a grin. “Your employees could get tips that way, too.”

“And they would rightly deserve them,” Castiel agrees. His smile is still small, warm. “But that’s still a long ways off. I have a few more things to build and put together.”

“Right,” Dean nods, suddenly remembering that he’s here to help Castiel. “What did you need my big strong hands for?”

Suddenly Castiel sends Dean a calculating, heavy look, dark blue eyes roving over Dean’s figure with little subtlety before he replies. “A few things, but for now we’ll start with bringing in some furniture.”

Dean feels Castiel’s gaze like a touch and tries not to squirm under it. “Yeah- ok. Lead the way.” 

Castiel’s lashes lower for the briefest of moments before he turns and starts walking away, leading Dean through a door marked ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’. Dean follows closely, unable to resist his eyes dropping down to watch the toolbelt move with each manly sway of Castiel’s hips, and soon enough Castiel is opening a garage door, revealing a pickup truck on the other side. The bed is stuffed with wardrobes and chairs and tables, all carefully stacked and tied down so they don’t get damaged in the haul; Dean starts helping Castiel unhook the ties, and then they move in surprising symbiosis to unload the truck and get all of the furniture inside the garage. It takes the better part of an hour, especially with Castiel looking like he’ll cry if anything gets so much as scuffed (he’d explained that he’d thrifted these antiques from an estate sale of a house older than dirt, all one of a kind), but when they’re finished they stand back, grinning at the assortment. 

“These will look perfect, Cas,” Dean says. When he shifts he’s reminded of the fact he hasn’t showered; he smells like grease, oil, and sweat, and can’t be all that pleasant to stand next to.

Castiel doesn’t seem to bother, as he reaches a hand and gently grips Dean’s bicep. A friendly touch, a warm touch, one that resonates deep within Dean’s touch-starved self. “Thank you for your help.”

“Any time,” Dean says, finding himself meaning it wholly and truly. He glances over to see Castiel’s gaze on him, the usual furrow in his brow smoothed out. The only age on Castiel’s face is in the way his hooded eyes droop slightly at the corners - but when he smiles a bit wider and the crow’s feet deepen attractively, Dean feels his heart skip a beat. “You sure you don’t need me to pound you?”

Moment broken.

Dean splutters - “I mean nails! Hammer! Build stuff!” - while Castiel throws his head back in a laugh, pulling away from Dean and shaking his head. 

“Thank you, Dean, but I will wait for another time to ask for that specific… service,” Castiel says, resting a hand on the hammerhead sticking out of his toolbelt. 

Damn, that’s attractive.

Feeling that it’s almost time for them to part Dean reaches out, fingers sliding across Castiel’s tan forearm, unable to help himself. “Hey, uh- are you busy Friday?”

Castiel’s eyes are still twinkling beautifully, the night sky trapped in them midday. “No.”

“Wanna get dinner with me?” Dean winces internally - God, he has no tact. Will he ever sound less skeezy?

“I do,” Castiel says, despite Dean’s inner turmoil. His arm shifts under Dean’s fingers until his own fingers catch, lacing through Dean’s expertly and giving a soft squeeze. Their palms are sweaty and they both stink but neither of them seem to care, trapped in the moment as they are. 

“Great,” Dean nearly sighs in relief and resists at the last moment - but he knows his smile speaks a thousand words. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I’ll send you my address,” Castiel says, and then pulls away, breaking contact.

Dean immediately feels incomplete. But he smiles, taking a step away; this garage is on the same side of the building he had parked his car on, and he knows that Castiel is about to send him away. “Alright- uh. I’ll see you then.” He makes to turn, but then there are strong fingers wrapping around his wrist again, stopping him from leaving. Head tilting towards Castiel, Dean arches a brow slightly when he sees a playful smile curling over the other man’s features. 

“You reek,” Castiel says plainly. 

Dean bristles slightly, “Yeah- sooner you let me go, sooner I can shower and get all clean.”

A sharp, surprisingly strong tug and Dean is stumbling towards Castiel, all up in the man’s bubble. Castiel’s head tilts inwards, nose scenting just under Dean’s jaw and Dean feels himself tense up, heat bursting in his veins at the closeness. Castiel’s skin is hot against his own everywhere they touch - from fingers on his wrist to Castiel’s other hand, which has reached up to cup the opposite side of Dean’s jaw and keep his head tilted - and Dean lets out a little pant when Castiel inhales.

“I like it,” Castiel announces, voice dark. Grip strong. Body… _invasive_. Dean’s knees feel weak. When Castiel pulls away he removes all physical contact from Dean and the mechanic shivers at the loss, before noting the way that Castiel’s gaze trails over his features. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Brain-to-mouth filter momentarily on the fritz, Dean only manages a jerky nod of his head to acknowledge his own parting. Castiel turns and disappears into the garage, the mechanical sound of the garage door coming down jolting Dean into movement. His knees shake a little as he walks towards his car, fingers trembling as he unlocks it and gets inside… and then he presses his forehead against his steering wheel, letting out a whuff of air. 

“Jesus H. Christ.” he laughs to himself. 

He’s in way over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) is terrible but i love talking nonsense with people  
> also not sorry for scaring dean pantsless ok (((scaredy cat dean is secretly a fave))) (((((((((castiel protecc))))))))))


	4. Wood Stain & SPF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to wait a bit longer to get to the schmoopy first date stuff, but dean couldn't wait anymore, so here we are.  
> as usual, not beta'd.

As Dean pulls up to Castiel’s house, he does his best to not give in to the butterflies dive bombing in his gut. It’s a little hard to manage, because every time he thinks he has a hold on his nerves he imagines Castiel dressed up as the Warden and the butterflies try to puke out of his mouth, but - he thinks he’ll be ok. Maybe. Kind of. Been a while since the Warden and Dean is a little confused as to why his subconscious is bringing it up _today_ of all days, but… nerves make people think ridiculous things, right? 

Not that the Warden was any sort of ridiculous. Oh… mm, no.

Castiel’s house is in a quaint suburb, unlike Dean who lives in a part of town known for being more affordable than nice. The lawn is manicured, the gutters are clear of debris, and Dean has a moment of wonder about when exactly Castiel gets the time to keep up on all of his work as well as his rather immaculate looking house. Some people thrive on being busy, he supposes. He’s not one of them. 

He parks at the curb because Castiel’s truck is in the single-car driveway (Castiel drives a Chevy, which makes Dean proud, but also drives a _truck_ and for some reason Dean had imagined him as a Prius sort of guy. He’s not disappointed.), and then hops out of his car. The door _crrrrks_ and across the way a neighbor is watering his lawn via hose rather than a sprinkler; when Dean accidentally catches his eye the neighbor smiles and gives a friendly wave, which Dean awkwardly returns. 

Yeah… he likes his neighborhood where, you know, none of the neighbors talk to one another.

At the door Dean knocks a few times and then takes a step back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He’d made a point to tell Castiel not to dress up too fancy and to bring a coat; Dean’s request is mirrored in his own jeans and green plaid flannel, the only ‘dressing up’ he did consisting of a clean, white v-neck underneath. It doesn’t take long for Castiel to open the door, swinging it open to reveal a warm smile, and Dean has no shame in the way his gaze rakes over the other man. Castiel is also wearing jeans, and a jersey tee with a creme torso and dark blue sleeves hugging his body snugly.

“Come in,” Castiel says, stepping aside to make room. “I need to grab my coat.”

“Sure,” Dean stands in the entryway and shuts the door behind him, glancing around. Castiel’s house is about the same size as Dean’s and a ranch-style with an open floor plan, decorated with what looks like second-hand, but very well taken care of furniture. Nothing matches, but nothing sticks out like a sore thumb; it’s cozy, and homey, and Dean inhales deeply to catch a whiff of the lingering smell of incense. Castiel didn’t really strike him as the hippy type but his home is so inviting, Dean finds himself unconsciously drifting towards the worn, cozy looking couch. 

Castiel returns with his jacket slung over his arm, causing Dean to glance up. “Do you thrift everything?” 

Tilting his head, Castiel glances around as if a little surprised by Dean’s observation. “... Is it that obvious?”

Dean backtracks, hoping he hadn’t offended Castiel. “No- I mean kinda. Everything looks… loved.” That’s a good way to describe it, he thinks. He smiles. “I like that even though you thrift it doesn’t look like a ninety year old cat lady lives here.”

“You know not of my age,” Castiel says with a playful lift of his nose. 

“But you do have cats?” Dean asks, glancing warily around. 

“I have one,” Castiel says, sensing Dean’s shift in demeanor. “Are you allergic?”

“Uh,” Dean waves a hand idly, “a little. It’s no big deal.”

“I will keep that in mind for your next visit,” Castiel says, brow furrowing slightly. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if I had known. Usually I vacuum and dust thoroughly before guests arrive.”

“It’s alright,” Dean reassures Castiel. “My nose isn’t even itching, so you must be a regular Martha Stewart even on your off days.”

Castiel chuckles, “I suppose so.”

A comfortable silence falls over them for a moment, before Dean seems to remember himself. “Right! So. Let’s get going.”

They leave Castiel’s house and the neighbor is still out watering his lawn - this time he gives a wave to Castiel, who returns it more meaningful than Dean had before, and then they’re slamming the Impala doors shut, Dean cranking the engine and pulling away from the curb.

“Alright, so- don’t make fun of me,” Dean starts, keeping his eye on his road as he gestures over his shoulder to the back seat, “but I thought we could have a picnic.”

“A picnic?” Castiel sounds surprised, and out of his peripheral Dean can see him craning to peer into the back seat, no doubt taking in the wicker basket complete with a red checkered blanket. And then Castiel sounds a little pleased as he settles back, “Where?” 

“Clinton Lake,” Dean replies, wringing the steering wheel idly. “I’m uh, not really a fancy restaurant type of guy…”

“I love picnics,” Castiel says, sounding very assuring.

Dean smiles to himself “Me, too. My picnics usually consist of pb-and-j’s, a sixer, and my fishing pole, but I thought I’d spruce it up a little bit for you.”

“How considerate,” Castiel says wryly.

Asia filters through the speakers on soft as they make the drive, the music filling the amiable silence between the two. Dean thinks that Castiel makes a pretty good car-mate; he doesn’t change the radio station or mess with the volume, and his window is all the way down so his arm can hang out, and he seems content to just ride shotgun. Dean appreciates that. Sam is always complaining about his music choice, rides with the window half-up, and nitpicks at Dean when he forgets to use his blinker. 

The park is relatively busy for a Friday night, like Dean figured it would be. He drives past the campsites and makes his way onto a dirt road that leads further away from the clusters of people until he doesn’t dare take Baby anymore, parking the car and reaching into the backseat for the basket with a grin. 

“You up for a hike?” 

Castiel is already opening the door and exiting the car, “I’m up for anything.”

Dean’s stomach swoops and his grin widens to a full on smile as he makes sure the car is locked up, trailing after Castiel as the other makes his way towards a worn footpath. It hasn’t rained in over a week so the path is dry, Dean intensely thankful for it because it totally slipped his mind to suggest tennis shoes. Castiel’s worn chucks handle the slightly uneven terrain well, though, and as they fall into step Dean shifts the basket into his left arm so his right hand is free. Ideally, he would like to hold Castiel’s hand. His fingers twitch a little and he spares a glance down to where Castiel’s left hand is swinging against his thigh as they walk, and just when Dean reaches out to link their fingers Castiel lifts the hand in pursuit to mess up his already fucked hair. 

“I’m glad we’re doing this in the evening,” Castiel says. “It was really hot today.”

Dean’s hand detours to help steady the basket against his side, trying not to pout at his missed opportunity. Instead, he schools his face into an interested smile - which isn’t far off from how he really feels, anyway. “Busy day?”

“I spent most of it outside sanding and staining wood,” Castiel wrinkles his nose and God damn, it’s cute. “I think I used a gallon of aloe vera when I got home.”

“Sunburn?” Dean asks, his gaze automatically trailing over the skin of Castiel’s already tanned forearms. 

“I wear sunscreen, so no burns. But my skin still felt pretty tight after seven hours in the sun,” Castiel says, sending a small smile over towards Dean.

“And you’re doing it outside because the town is taking up your shop space,” Dean remembers Castiel telling him about it the other day. “Is the new shop you rented far?”

“Not particularly,” Castiel shakes his head. “I should have done it all there, but I also wanted to let some of the wood dry outside. I had a problem with thieves last month so I hung around to keep an eye on things.”

Dean frowns. “Someone jack your stuff?”

Castiel sighs, “Beautiful wine barrels from 1870. Perfect condition. Sealed wood, iron handles. I thought they’d be safe in an alcove to dry after I put a second sealant on them, but when I came back the next morning they were gone.”

“Shit man, I’m sorry,” Dean says, and he means it. “You must have went through hell finding ‘em.”

Castiel manages a shrug as they come to a clearing that leads to a few meters of shoreline. “The ones I got to replace them are nice, but not the same. They’ll make do.”

“Who the hell would steal wine barrels?” Dean grouses slightly. They stop where the grass meets the sand and Dean sets down the basket, shaking out the blanket before crouching to settle it. Castiel helps from the other side, pulling the corners taut, and then they both sit down comfortably.

“I haven’t a clue,” Castiel sits with his legs criss cross. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m a firm believer in karma.”

Dean flashes a smile as he opens up the wicker basket, “Amen to that.” He fishes around for a little bit, pulling out a bottle of wine and two plastic glasses, handing one of the cups over to Castiel. “Do you like wine?”

“I do,” Castiel says, and the smile that spreads over his lips is stunning - soft at the corners, and fond in his eyes. “What kind is this?”

“A rosé,” Dean searches through containers of food for the corkscrew, “I’m personally not a fan of wine but I like this girly stuff alright. Goes well with fruit.” He finds the tool and sets about opening the bottle, pulling the cork free and tossing it and the opener back into the basket with a grin. “Here we go.”

Castiel holds his glass up for Dean to pour the wine into, his smile widening some. “Wine and fruit on a picnic. I didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

“Well,” Dean fills his own glass and then turns to rummage through the basket again, finding the wine stopper and plugging the bottle before carefully setting it in the grass to lean up against the basket. “Honestly it’s been a hot minute since I’ve even been on a date. I figure they usually blow up in my face, so why not try something I’ve never done before?”

“Charming _and_ confident,” Castiel teases good-naturedly.

Dean settles to sit criss-cross as well, chuckling and holding his glass up for a toast. “What can I say? I’m a real winner.”

“I think so,” Castiel says, lashes lowering slightly as he knocks the edge of his cup gently against Dean’s. “This really is thoughtful. I’ve never been on a picnic date before.”

Dean takes a light sip of the wine, trying not to wince as the dry flavor rolls over his tongue. He enjoys rosé, but it takes a few sips to get used to it. “Me either.”

A comfortable silence falls over them as they both peer out over the water. They’re in a little cove secluded from the campsites, and the sound of laughing and happily families carries smoothly over the glass surface. It’s still a few hours until sunset, but next to the water the heat of the day is muted, and Dean is thankful for it since Castiel had said he was working outside all day. 

“Why has it been so long?” Castiel breaks the silence, his cup almost empty and his gaze still on the water.

Dean lets out a breath that flaps his lips a little, knocking back the rest of his wine in preparation for the answer. “After my last strike out I kinda swore off dating for a while. I was… really serious about her, and even her kid, but in the end I wasn’t good enough.”

“She thought you weren’t good enough, or you thought you weren’t good enough?” Castiel asks, leveling Dean with his gaze. His dark eyes are intense but not unkind, his head tilted curiously.

The question stuns Dean a little, and he tongues the inside of his cheek in thought. “I guess… I thought I wasn’t good enough, and my insecurities sorta bled out and made a mess of everything.”

“Why would a man like Dean Winchester be insecure?” Castiel asks with honesty, one of his brows rising.

Dean laughs, reaching into the basket to start feeling around the refrigerated padding for the containers of cut fruit. “Lotsa reasons I suppose. Had a reputation that followed me outta high school.”

He can hear the eyeroll in Castiel’s eyes, “We’re quite a ways out of high school, Dean. Why would that reputation matter?”

“I dunno, small town mentality?” Dean hazards as he pulls out a tupperware container of honeydew. “I was the delinquent, my brother was the brains.” He fidgets with the clasps on either side of the bowl, “I mean I’ve grown up a lot, obviously. But it always comes around to bite me in the ass. Every time we got in a fight Lisa always just had to remind me of it.”

Castiel gently takes the bowl from Dean so he can pop the lid off and reach in for a piece of fruit, “Lisa sounds like a bitch.”

The comment catches Dean off guard and he ends up barking out a surprised laugh, fixing Castiel with an amused glance. Dean and Castiel still don't know each other all too well, but it takes nothing for Castiel to make Dean accept Lisa’s transgressions and… put it in the past, all with just a few (choice) words. “You know what? You’re right. She was.” 

“I am right,” Castiel says, his voice stern as he sucks the honeydew between his lips. “Besides,” he grins, teeth sinking into the fruit, “I like delinquents.”

Dean feels his cheeks heat up and he rolls his eyes, turning and reaching for the wine bottle as a distraction. “Pervert.” He pulls out the stopper and grabs Castiel’s glass, “Anyway. A lot of my self-esteem got blasted away with her. Honestly the only good thing she contributed to my life was her kid, Ben.”

“Children are wonderful,” Castiel agrees. He licks his fingers clean and takes his filled glass for a sip. “I would like to have some of my own, one day.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, almost a little dreamily and thankful for the subject change. “Me too. But for now: I’m enjoying being a career man.”

“How did you come to own the garage?” Castiel asks.

Dean takes the time to fill his own glass and put the stopper back in the wine, stealing a piece of fruit from the bowl before answering. “My uncle left it to me in his will.”

“Oh,” Castiel blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Fucker ain’t dead yet,” Dean laughs, holding his cup up in salute. “Just retired.”

Castiel laughs, setting down the bowl in front of them. “You have a good relationship with your family, it seems.”

“They have their moments,” Dean agrees, and then turns to fish around in the basket again. He knows better than to ask about Castiel’s family, since the he'd learned quite a bit at their sushi lunch. Quite frankly he’d be ok if Castiel never wanted to talk about them again. Except for maybe his brother that owns the porn shop. Dean doesn’t know if that could come in handy, or lead to a very embarrassing situation. “I also brought watermelon, and some sliced cheese, meat, and crackers.”

“Delicious,” Castiel says, approving of Dean’s picnic. Dean feels a flush of satisfaction he can't really explain, and Castiel rests a hand on his knee, “This is all very thoughtful. I'm feeling properly wined and dined.”

Dean feels the heat of Castiel's hand seeping into his skin through the denim of his pants and he has to focus on bringing out the platter he'd arranged the cheese and meat that he had sliced himself just hours ago. “Sam wouldn't shut up, but it felt good doing all of this.”

“I admire your dedication to making others happy,” Castiel compliments as he helps Dean get the lid off. 

Their fingers brush, and Dean chuckles. “Nah, it's no big deal.”

“Dean,” Castiel picks up a piece of cheese, sending the mechanic an amused look, “You came and tried my rooms which, in the beginning, I _knew_ you thought were lame. But Sam wanted to try them, and you wanted to make him happy.” Dean doesn't say anything, occupying himself by making a small sandwich, avoiding Castiel's warm eyes. “And this- after I told you I wanted to be wined and dined. Which was partially a joke,” he laughs lightly, “but you took into great consideration. You're a selfless man, Dean. It's very attractive.”

The blunt compliment derails Dean slightly, and he crams his little cracker sandwich into his mouth to delay having to reply. Castiel's hand is still comfortable on Dean's knee, and Dean takes a drink of his wine before he can get his mouth to cooperate with his brain. “I uh, gotta admit I don't really know how to take a compliment.”

“Then I suppose that's something we can work on together, because you are very complimentary,” Castiel says, eyes wrinkling handsomely at the corners. 

“Makin’ long term promises already?” Dean tries to tease, even if his heart in his throat makes his words come out slightly garbled. He'll pretend it's because he's still chewing.

“I don't know about you,” Castiel starts saying a little slowly, like he's a little afraid of how Dean is going to react. His tone of voice definitely makes Dean perk and pay attention. “But I am not looking for anything _short_ term.”

The implications ring around Dean's head like church bells and he takes a moment to process Castiel's words. Well. He's not terribly surprised but he's still… surprised. Ha. He's trying to work through how to respond, but Castiel speaks again before he can form a coherent thought that doesn’t make him sound like a commitment-phobe.

“I had a suspicion that might freak you out. By all means we can take this step by step, but I wanted to make my intentions clear.” Castiel's eyes are so deep, so expressive, and Dean thinks he'd drown in them before he’d drown in the lake five feet ahead of them. 

“Yeah-" Dean's voice stops up a little and he clears his throat, trying again. “I get it. And I- uh.” he nods, staring into his cup, finding the courage to recognize that his own feelings aren’t far off from Castiel’s. “...Same.”

“Same,” Castiel echoes with amusement. He shifts so he can gently nudge Dean with his elbow, forcing him to glance up at him. His expression is still warm, which relaxes Dean. “I suppose difficulty talking about feelings is also on par with unable to take a compliment.”

“Yeah, well, I'm an open book,” Dean says sarcastically, even though he feels a bit lighter with Castiel's understanding.

“I'm an avid reader,” Castiel replies easily.

There they go, speaking in metaphors again. It's cheesy and sweet and makes Dean's stomach do weird flippy things so he allows his smile to widen, returning his gaze back out to the lake as they eat in silence. They kill the bottle of wine and Castiel nearly falls over with laughter when Dean pulls out a second one while waggling his brows, uncorking it and pouring them another round.

It's been a little over an hour and a half when Castiel sets his empty cup aside and reaches for his shoes, starting to pull at the laces.

“Is the water warm?” 

Dean tears his eyes away from where Castiel has started rolling up the cuffs of his jeans to reveal tanned, sturdy looking ankles. “Uh- probably.”

Castiel rolls up his socks and puts them in his shoes, setting them off towards the side. His pant legs are rolled up past his calves, and Dean has to remind himself that he doesn't have any weird fetishes as he takes in the sinewy bronzed skin smattered with wisps of thin, but dark hair. Castiel stands on sure feet despite the fact they've started on their second bottle and makes his way to the sand, squishing his feet into the softness a little before continuing on. Dean is content to watch, nursing his wine and sucking on a piece of watermelon.

“How's it?” Dean asks.

When Castiel turns to smile at him, Dean is pretty sure he might die before the end of the night from strangulation. The cause, of course, being his heart trying to force its way past his teeth every time Castiel looks or even smiles in his direction. The man is so handsome - and this date they're sharing, the privacy of it is allowing Dean to fully understand and comprehend all of the man without inhibition. His perpetually messy hair, his dark lashes, deep eyes, the elegant slope of his neck to his shoulders, and whenever they touch: the strength, the solidity of him. Dean hasn't had many flings with men in his life, but none of them hold a candle to Castiel. Castiel, who looks like an angel straight from heaven as he regards Dean from his spot ankle-deep in the water, sunbeams reflecting off of the surface and bathing him in an ethereal light. 

Dean is… so fucked.

“Warm,” Castiel replies. “But I imagine if I were to go out deeper it would get colder.”

Dean nods, unable to trust himself with words all of a sudden. He might accidentally blurt out those waxy poetic thoughts that trailed through his brain with no filter. He finishes chewing the fruit in his mouth and swallows it, draining his glass to try and douse the butterflies trying to migrate into his esophagus. He unlaces his boots and pulls off his socks, setting them to the side as he starts to hike up the cuffs of his jeans, struggling to get them over his calves. After a few moments he finally succeeds and he stands up, stepping onto the grass and feeling the blades sift between his toes as he walks towards the sand. The sand itself is sun-warmed and feels infinitely better on the soles of his feet and he stops a foot away from the shoreline, doing a little jig by bending his knees and swinging them from side to side to get his feet to bury underneath the sand. 

“Cozy?” Castiel asks with a laugh.

Dean grins. “Nothin’ better than burying your feet in hot sand, my man.”

“I see,” Castiel nods, smiling and turning around to wade a few inches deeper into the water.

Not wanting Castiel to get too far away, Dean steps out of the little hole he dug and makes his way into the water. It’s warm in the shallows, but as soon as Dean takes a full step inwards, he clenches his teeth a little at the rush of cold that sweeps against his legs. “Bleh.”

“Do you like to swim?” Castiel asks once Dean is standing somewhat next to him.

“Yeah,” Dean says, unclenching his jaw once the his body gets used to the water. He slides his hands into his pockets, head turning slowly so he can take in all of the scenery. “It’s my favorite form of exercise, but I don’t do it nearly enough. There’s a pool at the gym I go to, but there’s nothing like being out here, with all of this,” he makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, “and not having a care in the world.”

“I don’t know how to swim,” Castiel admits freely. Dean wonders if Castiel ever feels embarrassed or self-conscious. He’s yet to see the man display those particular emotions.

“Really?” Dean bounces his eyebrows in surprise, then looks down at where Castiel’s rolled up pant legs are nearly touching the water because they’ve waded so far from shore. 

Castiel has a wry smile on his features when Dean glances up, “Just because I can’t swim doesn’t mean I’m afraid of the water.”

Dean flushes. Wow, how transparent can he be? He rubs the back of his neck. “I could teach you sometime. I was a lifeguard in high school and used to run swimming lessons.”

Castiel’s arms fold across his chest loosely, his biceps pressing against the three-quarter sleeves of his jersey top. He shakes his head, his smile softening. “I think I’ll pass, but I’m definitely more at ease knowing I’m in the presence of such a capable, strong man.”

Dean snorts a laugh, reaching out to clap Castiel on the back. “Yeah- that’s me alright.”

They fall into another companionable silence, Dean’s hand staying where it landed between Catsiel’s shoulder blades. It’s comfortable, Castiel’s back warm from the heat of the day, and Dean knows he’ll have to move his hand soon before it gets all clammy and gross, but… standing here like this, enjoying the scenery, listening to the happy families on the other end of the lake, just the two of them? Dean suddenly finds himself counting his lucky stars.

“Dean,” Castiel says, catching the man’s attention. Their gazes meet, his features relaxed as he regards the other. “Thank you. I feel.... Relaxed. Stress-free. For the first time in a few months, actually.”

Another surprise. Dean’s head tilts a little as he pulls his hand away from Castiel’s back. “Yeah?”

Castiel nods, shifting to stand closer to Dean. “I’m what I like to call a… busy bee. If I’m not working on a project, I feel lazy and unproductive. I often have a few things going on at the same time just to keep myself occupied. For the most part I handle it well, but for the past few months things have been… difficult.” Dean stays quiet, waiting for Castiel to continue. “Our track records mirror each other. My last relationship also went out in a ‘blaze of glory’,” he uses _air quotes_ and Dean has to bite his lip to not laugh during the serious conversation, “and instead of dealing with all of the emotions, I threw myself into work. The day you and Sam came to my store, I had been considering taking a vacation and getting as far away from here as possible.”

Dean blinks. “... You’re not telling me that we stopped you, right-?”

“Not so much you specifically,” Castiel shakes his head. “But your… passion.” He smiles soft. “You and Sam didn’t have a single care in the world when you were in my room. You had each other, you had something fun to do, and you let it carry you away. After the breakup I had been so bitter- he had said that I loved my work more than I love him which, looking back, was probably true. After he left I wondered if doing what I did was worth doing it alone. But then you and Sam came and… it was like a light turned on. What I do is incredible. I remove people from the outside world and put them in a safe space where they don’t have to worry about anything of their problems. I create distractions, and therapy. New worlds for people to immerse themselves in and just… _exist_ for small chunk of time out of their busy, stressful lives.” His smile turns a bit teasing. “Watching you, Dean, go from politely disinterested to cheering when you escaped the room… breathed new life into me.”

Unsure what to say, Dean keeps his yapper shut. Castiel is close to him, so he reaches out and slides his hand over Castiel’s bicep down to where his elbow is bent, offering a warm smile that he feels from the inside out. “Anyone who tries to shoot you down for doing the things you love don’t deserve shit from you, Cas.”

“I have my own shortcomings,” Castiel says, like he’s confessing. He leans slightly closer to Dean, “I’m a workaholic and I often leave reality to go into my own headspace to think up the newest and greatest thing. Sometimes I don’t eat properly, sometimes I don’t even sleep. My ex left because I was too ‘intense’ and likened me to a dormant nuclear bomb.”

“You tryna scare me away?” Dean manages to huff out with an amused laugh. His heart is thudding, Castiel’s presence and scent invading his senses.

“I don’t want to mislead you,” Castiel says. “In the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve only wanted to get closer to you. Share with you. Even my ex didn’t captivate my interest this well.”

Playfully, Dean puffs out his chest. “Well- I am a Winchester. S’kinda what we do.”

“Dean,” suddenly Castiel’s fingers are sliding over the outside of Dean’s hand, tentative before his index finger hooks around Dean’s pinky. Dean falls quiet, loses his bravado and waits, pinned to the spot by Castiel’s intense gaze. “I’m going to kiss you.” 

“Uh- yeah,” Dean breathes out, already feeling a little dizzy. 

Castiel smells like wood stain and sunscreen and doesn’t give Dean any more time to register what’s happening before he presses their lips together. His fingers catch Dean’s more surely and he pulls the man closer to him, the soft _sploosh_ of the water getting disturbed by their movements getting overshadowed by the rush zooming through Dean’s head. Castiel’s lips are slightly chapped, a little dry, and taste like honeydew. Castiel’s other hand lifts up to cup Dean’s jaw and tilt his head in a more favorable direction and Dean’s mouth falls open of its own volition, allowing Castiel’s tongue to swipe in. Unable to control his body Dean’s hands move up, one on Castiel’s hip and the other on the man’s shoulder, more so to keep himself upright than to actually embrace Castiel.

It’s all-consuming, the kiss. All thoughts turn to static in Dean’s head and the only thing he can register is _Cas Cas Cas_ and how good it feels to be devoured. Castiel’s lips, tongue and teeth are skilled as he works Dean quickly into a frenzy and Dean can’t remember the last time he’s been kissed stupid - if ever. The kiss is over far too soon (although honesty, Dean couldn’t even begin to specify how long they’d been kissing at all) and Castiel pulls away, the soft sound of their spit-slick lips separating being the cue for Dean to open his eyes. 

Castiel’s expression makes Dean’s knees go weak all over again. His brow is slightly furrowed, pupils blown wide, but his mouth is soft and relaxed, lips bitten swollen and parted to help deliver the slightly deepened breaths he’s taking. Dean swallows and moves so both his hands are on Castiel’s hips, trying to figure out how to talk all over again. 

“Damn,” is what Dean settles on. 

Castiel’s expression finally relaxes fully and he chuckles, “Agreed.”

“You uh,” Dean offers a crooked smile, “you can do that whenever you want. S’good.”

“I plan to take full advantage,” Castiel says, pulling Dean closer into him. He’s an inch shorter but feels so big as Dean melts into his side, both of them turning to face the edge of the forest where the sun is starting to dip. 

“Hey,” Dean speaks up. “Got any bug spray?”

\--

As far as first dates are concerned, Dean is pretty sure he’s never had one - and will never have one - as amazing as his with Castiel. After that mind blowing kiss they watched the sunset, then packed up their picnic and hiked the short way back to the car. Dean had driven Castiel back to his house and they made out like teenagers for a full ten minutes before Castiel extricated himself with the notion that he needed to feed his cat, and Dean had sat in the car and waited until Castiel was safely inside his house before pulling away.

It’s the day after, Saturday, and Dean is _whistling_ as he works on a shoddy Toyota Camry, the tune carrying up from the underground bay where he changes oil as easily as he brushes his teeth. The employees in the shop are a little on edge - but at the same time relieved - about their boss being in such a good mood. Dean usually hates doing something as measly as an oil change, always more interested when people bring in classics or ask about restoration, but Dean had clearly woken up on the right side of the bed.

When Dean comes up for air, wiping his oily hands off on an old rag, he sends a two-finger salute to Garth, who almost knocks over his utility cart in his haste to return the gesture. Dean snorts to himself, the asshole in him pleased that he has his employees on edge, and then shuts himself up in the office. Saturdays are always a half day for him, and today he’s got a half-baked idea to have a barbecue. Nothing too crazy, just the usual crowd of Sam, Gilda and Charlie, but he pulls out his phone to pull up his text thread with Castiel, chewing his lower lip. 

**bbq today. want some free food?**

Dean carefully takes off his jumpsuit and tosses it into the hamper - today Garth will make his rounds as part of his shift to take all their greasers to the laundromat - before taking a seat and clicking around on a few things on the computer. He makes sure to put the completed oil change into the system and checks on the status of the two other occupied bays, but he’s quick to pick up his phone when it vibrates. 

**Always.**

Firing off his address and a time Dean shuts his computer down and grabs his wallet and keys, ducking out of the office a bit earlier than he normally does. No one says shit as he leaves the garage and gets into his car, and his mood lightens impossibly more as he heads to the grocery store.

Ground beef, chicken, and an assortment of veggies make their way into Dean’s basket, and it doesn’t take long to pick up other odds and ends before Dean is back on the road to head home. When he comes through the front door Sam greets him from the kitchen, already anticipating that Dean would be bringing groceries home. He drops the groceries on the kitchen island for Sam to put away and excuses himself for a shower, a quick one that ends with him putting on a pair of relaxed jeans and a graphic tank top. 

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean finally returns the greeting as he re-enters the kitchen.

“Dean, Dean, Dean…?” Sam replies a little hesitantly, clearly as disturbed as the garage employees at Dean’s demeanor.

“It’s a good day, little brother,” Dean says, clapping Sam’s shoulder maybe a bit too hard as he passes by. “Tell the princesses to come over for a barbecue, will ya? I’m itching to fire up the grill.”

“You made steaks the other night,” Sam supplies unhelpfully, even as he fishes his phone from his pocket. “Also: you’re freaking me out a little, dude.”

“Can’t be in a good mood?” Dean asks a little _too_ innocently.

After Sam sends the text he sets his phone on the counter, moving to the sink to start washing his hands. “It’s a little… weird.”

“I’m always in a good mood,” Dean pouts. 

Sam barks a laugh, “That’s a good one, Dean, but you should save your jokes for when the guests arrive.”

Dean rolls his eyes a little, but he’s still grinning as he pulls the vegetables out of the fridge, setting them on the counter for Sam to eventually rinse and chop. “I mean it.”

“So your date went well?” Sam hazards, and the smile in his voice is evident. 

“Aha, I don’t kiss and tell, Sammy,” Dean says smugly, washing his hands and moving towards the kitchen island so he can start forming the ground beef into patties. 

“But you did kiss?” Sam wheedles.

“What do you think?” Dean snorts.

“Gross,” Sam laughs, the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board punctuating his sentence. They work quietly together for a few moments, before Sam speaks up again. “But- man, you really are happy. It’s… It’s really good to see, Dean.”

Noting the softer tone of his brother’s voice, Dean smiles to himself. “Thanks, Sammy. It feels good.”

The front door opens and Charlie and Gilda announce their presence with the squeak of sneakers and the clack of high heels, the two women coming through to the kitchen with their hands full.

“‘Sup, bitches?” Charlie greets as she sets a paper bag on the counter.

Gilda smiles warmly, as she puts her matching bag next to Charlie’s.

“What gifts do the fair maidens bring?” Dean asks, trying to lean over the large island to peer into the bags, but unable to get far with his hands full of raw meat.

“Pie,” Charlie says, “duh.” She rolls her eyes and grins. “And booze. Gilda and I were already at the store when Sam texted, we were gonna come over anyway today and fatten you up.”

Dean playfully flexes his biceps, knowing they look good on display as he works the beef in his hands, “Good luck, Chuck.”

Charlie laughs and takes the pie tins out of the bags, moving over towards the fridge to carefully put them on the designated pie shelf. Gilda pulls out the bottles of alcohol and arranges them on the island neatly, helping herself to the cupboard that houses the plastic cups.

“Castiel gonna come?” Charlie asks as she reaches into the last paper bag one more time to pull out two liters of soda.

“Yeah,” Dean says, unable to hide his smile.

“And you’re gonna take him to the gun show?” Charlie asks with a laugh, slapping one of Dean’s biceps as she walks by. 

“It gets hot over the grill,” Dean’s words are slightly defensive, but he still laughs. “If there are any other benefits to the way I’m dressed, we’ll all pretend to be surprised.”

“So how was your date last night?” Charlie asks as she gets a plate for Dean to start setting the formed patties on. “You didn’t call me crying so I assume it went well.”

“Dean was _whistling_ ,” Sam supplies.

Dean’s fur raises, “What-”

“You think I don’t have tabs on you at work?” Sam asks, unimpressed as he uses his fingers to tear at the lettuce in his hands.

“Fuckin’ Garth,” Dean grumbles. He finishes making the patties and moves to the sink, bumping his wrist on the faucet to get the water to turn on so he can wash his hands. 

“I didn’t even know you knew _how_ to whistle,” Charlie laughs, grabbing another plate and setting it on the island before going back into the fridge to get the bag of chicken. 

“Is it so hard to believe that I just happen to be in an exceptionally good mood?” Dean grouses as he takes his freshly washed hands back to the island, starting to pull the thawed chicken from the bag and arrange on the new plate.

“I’m not even into dudes and I can confidently say that I, too, would be in a good mood after sucking face with Castiel Novak,” Charlie says solemnly.

Gilda hides a smile as she starts mixing up some drinks. “Same.”

Dean gapes at Gilda. “Not you, too.”

Gilda merely shrugs, the ringlets of her curled hair bouncing with the movements. Now that Dean really looks, Gilda is dressed up pretty nice in jeans, heels, and a pretty blouse, and even Charlie is wearing her nicer Converse with skinny jeans and a floral print tank top, her pixie cut styled in beach waves.

“What were you guys up to, today?” Dean asks. “We didn’t steal you from anything important did we?”

“Nothing’s more important than being blessed with Winchester’s Famous Burgers and Grilled Chicken,” Charlie says. She starts flitting around the kitchen to start throwing away garbage that has accumulated from Sam and Dean’s preparations. She never actually participates in prep or cooking, but is always more than happy to lend a hand as the clean-up crew.

“Really,” Dean frowns slightly. “You two look pretty.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Gilda says warmly, sliding a red solo cup over in Charlie’s general direction. “We actually just came from something.”

Charlie picks up her glass and sips at it with a gleeful smile, clearly doing her best to resist spilling the beans. 

“What kind of something?” Sam asks, turning away from the counter so he can fix Charlie and Gilda with a curious stare, one mirrored by Dean’s own.

“Get stuck visiting Gilda’s parents again?” Dean asks. He doesn’t like how silent Charlie has gotten; Gilda rarely ever talks more than necessary, and her taking the direction of the conversation is a little rattling. “Is everything alright?”

Gilda finishes mixing her own drink, before she finally lifts up her left hand, the simple but beautiful diamond ring on her wedding finger glinting from the track lights overhead. “More than alright.”

“WHAT!?” Dean shouts in surprise, the edges of his disbelief tinged in laughter. He fixes Charlie with an incredulous look, “You popped the question!?”

Charlie shrugs, looking satisfied with herself, before she finally sets down her drink. “Dude, duh! I know I was gonna wait but we went out to lunch today and it was just… right.”

Even though they’re a few feet apart, Charlie and Gilda share a warm, loving glance, and Dean feels his heart squeeze.

“Jesus, let me wash my hands,” he says, making his way back to the sink.

Sam is already wrapping the girls up in his big moose arms by the time Dean’s hands are properly sanitized, and soon they’re all crushed in a giant group hug; Gilda giggling, Charlie laughing, and Sam and Dean giving them heartfelt congratulations. When they all pull away they hug individually, and Dean kisses Charlie’s forehead, almost feeling a bit choked up.

“I’m real proud of you, Charlie,” Dean says.

“Shut up,” Charlie says, shyly, punching Dean in the shoulder to cover up her glittering eyes. “Don’t make me get all emotional. I’ve already cried off one-third of my eyeliner. We wanted you guys to be the first to know, so we were already en route when Sam texted.”

“Well shit, let’s get the drinks going and get the grill up!” Dean says, feeling his chest warm and full with happiness for his best friend. They put the veggies and meat in the fridge to stay cool, Charlie and Gilda grabbing their mixed drinks while Dean grabs two beers from the fridge. 

They all traipse out to the back patio, dispersing into the chairs surrounding the table. The concrete patio is framed by a dark stained pergola, Dean’s own handiwork, and the rest of the yard sprawls for a quarter of an acre, lush green and freshly mowed thanks to Sam’s early mornings. Perfect for entertaining outside, this space is actually what lead Dean to buying the house in the first place. Inside is nice and spacious, the upstairs and downstairs fairly modern and open-concept, but Dean spends pretty much all of his free time outside. He had replaced the cyclone fencing around the property with a tall wooden fence for privacy and is always inviting people over for barbecues and shenanigans. Out in the yard separate from the patio is a stone fire pit with lawn chairs circling it, one of Dean’s favorite places to zone out and relax.

Today’s impromptu engagement party is perfect for what Dean imagined this space for, and Dean is still feeling so full of good emotions between his amazing date with Castiel and Charlie and Gilda’s announcement, he feels like he could fly away. He arranges fresh briquettes in the grill, ones with an apple tinge, and fires up the grill to get the briquettes smoking. He’ll let them rest as embers for a bit to really get that smokey apple flavor out of them, moving to sit at the table once he’s satisfied. They drink and laugh and pester Charlie and Gilda for details (“When is the wedding?” “Where will it be?” “I’m your best man, right?”), and they’re only interrupted when the patio door slides open, Castiel walking through it with a six-pack hanging from one of his hands. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a faded Nirvana tee, his hair fucked two ways from Sunday, as usual.

“Heya, Cas!” Dean greets, standing up immediately and setting down his beer.

“I hope it’s alright I came in,” Castiel says by way of greeting as Dean approaches. “I could hear you all back here.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” Dean says, taking the six-pack from Castiel. He hesitates for the briefest of seconds- God, he wants to kiss the man so bad, but would that be too much too soon? To kiss him as a greeting in front of his friends?

Castiel decides for him, leaning in to press a warm kiss to Dean’s cheek, stubble scraping slightly over Dean’s skin. “Thank you.” His voice drops a little, lips brushing lightly against Dean’s ear. “And thank you for your choice of wardrobe. I almost walked right through the patio door when I saw you.”

Dean feels heat rise to his cheeks, but he offers a smug grin as he drops a hand down to playfully pat Castiel’s ass. “Thought you deserved a sneak peek.” He winks and then gestures with the six-pack, “Go have a seat, I’ll put this away.”

Castiel follows the instruction and Dean hurries to put the beer away, pulling one out of the carton and grabbing a bottle opener on his way back out towards the patio. He sees Castiel hugging Charlie and Gilda in turn and for a moment Dean pauses, one foot out the door, taking in the scene. Gilda and Charlie take comfort in Castiel’s gentle hug, and when Castiel sits down Sam reaches over to clap him warmly on the shoulder in his own greeting, Castile’s normal shy smile much warmer around the edges than normal. Dean’s heart squeezes in his chest. 

This is his family.

He finally finds his footing and slides the screen door shut behind himself, making his way towards his seat between Castiel and Charlie. He hands Castiel his drink and when he sits down they all reach to the center of the table for a toast - laughing when plastic cups almost get knocked over by glass bottles - and then settle back into chatter.

Dean gets up to duck inside and grab the plates of meat, coming back out to the grill. He keeps all of his seasonings, spices, and potions in a locked cubby adorning the side of the barbecue for ease of access, and he sets about seasoning the burger patties and chicken breasts with his usual, confident precision.

He’s on the outskirts of the conversation now but still able to participate, tongs in one hand and spatula in the other, enjoying how easily Castiel meshes in with them. It’s new and exciting to have Castiel in on a gathering that doesn’t involve business, to have Castiel here at his _home_ and looking so… right. 

“Dean will, of course, be my maid of honor,” Charlie says with total sincerity.

Dean rolls his eyes a little, “Always jumping at the chance to have me be your maiden, huh?”

Charlie’s smile is wicked. “Only because you play the role so well, my sweet.”

Castiel offers a warm chuckle, and Dean can’t even be embarrassed. “Will it be a traditional wedding?”

“Gilda’s parents would really like us to get married in a church,” Charlie says, “but we both feel that it’s kinda weird. Gilda’s church pastor has already said he’d marry us, but I’ve always had this fantasy of being married in a vineyard. Like super fancy status.”

Castiel sounds a bit surprised, “Your parents approve?”

Gilda’s response is warm, “Charlie and I very fortunate to have both our family’s blessings.”

Dean glances over towards Castiel, who seems to turn a bit reflective. No doubt slightly envious of Charlie and Gilda’s circumstance; after all, Castiel had admitted that his parents became estranged after he came out, and Dean figures that it stings a little to be reminded of it. But Castiel’s expression is still warm and honest when he replies, “You are very fortunate. I’m happy to see you two with such a strong support system.”

“And you better be happy to know that we’re _your_ support system,” Charlie says, putting her elbow on the table and pointing at Castiel with a serious expression.

Dean snorts. Leave it to Charlie to turn a celebration about her and Gilda’s happiness into an acceptance party for Castiel. But he appreciates it all the same, and so does Castiel, because he reaches out to grab Charlie’s hand and shake it playfully. “I thank you, milady.” 

Charlie absolutely beams at Castiel’s playful words, always thrilled to be referred to as ‘my queen’, ‘your highness’, or ‘milady’. The fact that Castiel did it without prompting goes down in everyone’s books as a win.

It doesn’t take much longer for the meat to grill up proper and Sam goes inside to grab paper plates, cutlery, and refrigerated condiments. Charlie and Gilda follow him to get drinks and buns, and Castiel makes his way to where Dean is manning the grill, tediously flipping over the meat so it doesn’t overcook on one side. 

“You’re a real man’s man,” Castiel says, nodding towards the expertly cooked burgers and chicken breasts.

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Dean says with a grin, patting his own. “Gotta keep you on lockdown somehow.”

“I assure you that’s not an issue,” Castiel leans forward, nosing into the curve of Dean’s neck. One of his hands traces over Dean’s exposed shoulder, “Although at this point I would much rather taste you than your burger.”

Dean swallows thickly, trying not to sound too affected as he replies, “Dessert, remember?”

Castiel’s teeth nip sharply on the lobe of Dean’s ear. “You’re making an honest man out of me, Dean Winchester.” His low voice reverberates through Dean’s body and makes him shudder, but then Castiel is pulling away and leaving Dean’s side cold as he moves towards the door to pull the screen open so the others can come out bearing gifts.

It turns out Castiel likes his burgers relatively plain, only with a fresh slice of cheese and barbecue sauce on top. Dean loads his up like he’s trying to win a contest and can barely fit it in his mouth by the time he’s ready to eat. Castiel falls into conversation with everyone easily enough, and Dean is humbled by and attracted to the wit and humor that falls from the other man’s lips. If he weren’t charmed by the man before, tonight would surely have been his downfall.

The sun starts to set and there had been way too many refills for Charlie and Gilda to drive home, so everyone starts cleaning up the perishables and clearing away the paper goods. Dean moves to the fire pit and starts kindling some wood, focusing on bringing a fire to life, and is grateful when Castiel brings over the paper goods to burn instead of throw away. They arrange the chairs around the fire and Charlie and Gilda both come out wearing some spare sleep clothes they always keep at Dean’s house for this exact purpose, the two of them wrapped up in the same blanket as they make their way towards the chairs, giggling and smooching. They sit down and scoot their chairs close, arranging the blanket over their laps, and Castiel and Dean are sitting down when Sam comes out toting the makings for s’mores. 

Excited chatter turns to quiet discussion about nothing important in particular, some jokes still being tossed around. It’s after ‘quiet time’ in the neighborhood and Dean laughs every time he chastises Charlie for getting loud, but eventually, after their s’mores have been consumed and the fire starts dwindling, yawns make their way around the circle. Charlie and Gilda get up and say goodnight, making their way inside the house where Dean knows they’ll crash in the third bedroom. Sam gets up as well, bidding Dean and Castiel goodnight, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket to no doubt call Jessica back home and regale the day’s events. 

Castiel and Dean stay at the fire; Castiel’s hand rests on Dean’s knee, Dean’s own hand falling onto it, and they lean slightly in to one another as they regard the dying flames. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Castiel rumbles from his chest. He sounds a little sleepy, but he’s the most sober out of everyone, so Dean pushes away any concern about the man driving himself home. “Today was… special.”

Dean smiles, tilting his head until it rests gently against Castiel’s. “It was. I’m so happy for Charlie and Gilda. Man, they’ve been together for so long…”

“It’s sweet, how close you all are,” Castiel comments warmly. “You’re everyone’s big brother.”

“Hopefully not yours,” Dean huffs with a chuckle. 

“Definitely not mine,” Castiel says, turning his head to press a soft kiss against Dean’s hair. His fingers start gently rubbing the curve of Dean’s bent knee. He falls quiet, but Dean knows it’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling in, because Castiel’s silences are just as informative as his words. He’s taking in all of the day’s events, soaking them up and keeping them to himself to no doubt remember at a later time. It makes Dean feel good, to know that Castiel is cataloguing their time spent together. 

“You gonna go soon?” Dean asks, glancing down at his watch. The dim light of the fire lets him see that it’s nearing one in the morning. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, but he makes no motion to move. Dean doesn’t either. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Castiel’s hand lifts from Dean’s knee to trace fingers under his jaw, tilting his head towards him. The fire glowing in Castiel’s dark eyes makes Dean’s stomach churn pleasantly, and he leans in automatically when Castiel does for a soft kiss. “You don’t have a booking tomorrow. Could I ask you to come by the saloon for some help?”

Dean grins, pressing another soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. They’re a bit more moisturized today. “Whatever you want, s’long as I get to see you again.”

Castiel chuckles. “You can see me whenever you want, Dean.”

“Shh, I’m trying to play hard to get,” Dean says, tongue swiping playfully over Castiel’s lip. Castiel indulges him for a few moments, their kisses chaste but sweet and slow, and Dean forces himself to pull away and stand up, shaking out his limbs. “Alright, alright. Get outta here before I try to take you to bed.”

“And I thought we were having an innocent, romantic moment,” Castiel says, low voice tilting with tease.

Dean grabs the bucket filled with water settled next to the fire, carefully spilling the contents into the pit to extinguish any lingering flames. He’s smiling as he does so, “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Cas. I’ve seen you with handcuffs.”

Castiel’s hand on Dean’s lower back and his voice rumbling through Dean’s ear comes stealthy, and quick. “You’ll see much more than that in due time.” His teeth bite at the skin just behind Dean’s ear before he pulls away, his eyes dark and smile slightly dangerous at the edges. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean huffs out in minor frustration, pushing at Castiel’s shoulder, even though his eyes are clearly showing his amusement. “ _Jesus_ , get out.” 

Castiel holds up his hands in surrender and laughs, before he nods and walks towards the side of the house, no doubt going through the gate to get to his truck on the other side. Dean watches him walk away and feels a pang - he’s glad they’re taking it slow, but at the same time, going to bed tonight without Castiel in it will be too tough. Once he hears Castiel’s truck start up and drive away Dean allows himself to go inside, turning off lights and locking doors on his way up the stairs.

He stops at the third bedroom, poking his head in to see Charlie and Gilda tangled up in one other, soft snores traveling through the room as they sleep. Dean feels his heart melt. His special girls. Next he stops by Sam’s room, pressing his ear against the door instead of opening it, not wanting to alert his brother that he’s checking in on him. Silence greets him and Dean knows that Sam probably fell asleep right after calling Jess, so Dean continues on past the study and to the master bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

He strips down and gets into bed, trying to ignore how empty it feels as he draws the blankets up around him. Staring at the ceiling, he’s got a smile on his features as he goes over the days events, images in his head reminding him of how well Castiel had fit in, and how easily they accepted him as one of their own.

Even though he’s going to bed alone, for the first time in a long time, Dean falls asleep absolutely content.

Things are finally going right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee! i've slowed down a bit in the writing of this fic but i'm taking care to make sure that it chugs along at the pace i originally set it for. i'm usually all gung-ho for the smut (all the smut- and there will be smut!!!!!!) but it's kinda nice to take my time and really draw things out. developing both dean and cas's characters is something that i'm really starting to enjoy.  
> if you're expecting any great angst with this story i'm here to shoot down your hopes, man. i'm here for a good time, not a long time.  
> comments and kudos are always loved and appreciated,  
> and don't forget to yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


	5. By Your Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some tags have been added.  
> a shorter chapter today while i try to figure out my writer's block.  
> smut, ahoy!!

It's the first Sunday in a while that they haven't done a room, but Dean is up early anyhow in preparation to go help Castiel. He's standing at the kitchen counter, hovering over his single serve keurig and waiting for the precious liquid to drip out into his awaiting mug. Dressed in worn jeans, holes ripped into the knees by wear and not fashion, as well as a grey tank top and a red plaid flannel, Dean tries to remember the last time he did any labor like this. Working on cars is one thing, but working with wood, saws, and hammers? Must have been since he built the pergola out back, he thinks to himself as he pulls his coffee cup off of the keurig when it's done brewing. He stirs in some sugar, drops in a single ice cube, and then rests his elbows on the granite top of his kitchen island, hanging his head between his shoulders as he wills himself to wake up. 

“Dude, it's before nine,” Sam says with idle disbelief at Dean’s presence as he shuffles into the kitchen in sleep pants and a rumpled shirt. He pushes his long hair out of his face and squints at the keurig, pausing on front of it. 

“Not all of us got tanked last night, Sammy,” Dean says as he straightens, taking a deep drink. “Besides, who says I’m not a morning person?”

“You going to go see Cas?” Sam asks over the clunking of porcelain. 

Dean tries not to get prickly at the fact that Sam can see right through him. “Yeah, he needs some help with some projects.” He takes another drink. “The girls still asleep?”

“I heard the shower running, they'll probably be down once they smell more coffee.” 

Dean makes a non-committal noise, not giving much thought about the girls showering together. The novelty of them being a hot lesbian couple wore off about six years ago. Sure enough, ten minutes pass and Charlie and Gilda come into the kitchen, still wearing their sleep clothes but looking refreshed with towel-dried hair and eye bags only half sunken in. 

“Mornin’, sunshines,” Dean greets, chipper and knowingly grating. 

Charlie rubs her temples as she slumps onto a stool on the other side of the island. “Why are you not trashed?”

“Because I drank responsibly,” Dean replies with a sunny smile, holding up his coffee cup in salute.

Sam sets a fixed, steaming coffee in front of Charlie, who looks up at him like he's the messiah.

“Thanks Moose,” she says gratefully. 

Gilda covers a yawn, “Your spare bed is always so comfortable.”

“That's because Dean doesn't believe in anything other than memory foam,” Sam says, fixing up a cup of tea for Gilda. She smiles warmly and takes it along with the little honey bear in Sam’s other outstretched hand, and then Sam smirks at Dean, “What if Cas is a Tempurpedic kinda guy?”

“I'll hafta dump him,” Dean says morosely.

“False,” Charlie says with much more pep than she should be capable of with a hangover. Coffee truly is the elixir of life. “I give it approximately two weeks before you ask him to marry you.”

Dean winks, “You proposed to Gilda but didn't you know she actually signed a contract with me saying that we're a package deal. Surprise: I’m gonna be your husband.”

“I was your friend first, you shoulda signed that contract with _me_ ,” Charlie whines.

“Dean isn't marrying anyone,” Sam says, standing next to Dean and clapping him warmly on the shoulder. “He's gonna die alone.” 

Maturely, Dean mimics Sam’s words in a high-pitched voice before draining his coffee and heading over to the sink to rinse his cup. “You hooligans don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Everyone makes a general noise of agreement and then Dean is swiping his wallet, keys and phone off of the counter by the fridge before making his way towards the garage. It’s surprising that even still, after months of knowing Castiel, butterflies erupt in Dean’s stomach. Well- today they’re more in his veins, fluttering around in his blood, causing him to feel a weird mixture of excitement, trepidation, and arousal. Kissing Castiel is still fresh in his mind; their soul-searching kiss at the lake and the smaller scale, yet no less significant kisses between then and now. It’s hard to remember the last time he felt like this. A little bit of thought as Dean pulls out in to traffic has him realizing that he’s _never_ felt like this. The “L word” is something that Dean used to think he had a grasp on. Especially with Lisa. But from the first time he and Castiel met all the way up until now - it’s unlike anything Dean has ever experienced. He thinks, in the back of his mind, that he should be terrified. No one has etched their way into his mind and life like Castiel has. And it had been so… _easy_.

If Dean were at any other time in his life, he would have run for the hills. 

He snorts to himself. Who is he kidding? The only reason he’s so far gone is because it’s _Castiel_. And it _is_ scary. But in the end Dean knows he has nothing to be afraid of, because the light at the end of the tunnel has perpetual five o’clock shadow and eyes prettier than an August thunderstorm.

Dean pulls into the parking lot of Castiel’s building and swings his car into a parking spot, unable to keep from smiling as he sees Castiel greeting him with a wave by the garage door. He has two sawhorses set up outside with boards stretched between them, his table saw nearby. Castiel tucks the fat pencil in his fingers behind his ear and straightens from where he’d been bent over marking something, and gives a small, but welcoming smile. 

“Good morning, Dean,” he says.

“Mornin’,” Dean returns, and when he’s close enough he reaches for Castiel’s wrist, gently pulling him in so he can kiss him softly on his slightly scratchy cheek. Castiel seems pleased when they part. “What are we working on today?”

“The gallows,” Castiel declares with maybe a bit too much enthusiasm.

Dean raises his brows, “Kinda morbid ain’t it?”

Castiel shrugs, “What’s an old west town without a local _hang out_ spot?”

Dean levels Castiel with a dead stare, absorbing the pun into every fiber of his being. “Shut the fuck up.”

Castiel laughs, although the sound is a little smug as he turns towards the boards. “I’m measuring it all up to be cut. A lot of it will be screwed together, but I also want to slot some pieces a bit like a puzzle for easy transportation, since we’re building it outside and then bringing it in. It’s not going to be a functioning gallows, more for decoration, so it doesn’t need to be too sturdy.”

“Alright,” Dean claps his hands together before rubbing them, finding his smile easily enough. Hard not to feel anything other than good around Castiel. And maybe sometimes confused and aroused, but this is hardly that type of situation. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Working with Castiel is as incredible as having the man ride passenger in his car. It’s easygoing and efficient, with the pair of them working well side by side as well as apart. It’s all shop talk; Dean double checking measurements, the pair of them deciding at which angle to drill the holes, and then after a few hours of work in the hot sun they start to cart in the separate pieces of the gallows, putting them in the part of the town that Castiel wants them. It takes quite a few trips, but they assemble the gallows easily enough once inside, and when they’re done they both take a step back and wipe off their sweat, looking at their creation with satisfaction.

“Looks good, Cas,” Dean compliments honestly. “You got a real knack for this stuff.”

Castiel chuckles, “I was a stagehand before I was ever an actor. Building things has always come naturally to me.”

“A man of many talents,” Dean chuckles, wiping the palms of his hands on his pants. Both of them are sweaty and smell like sawdust, and Dean and Castiel both probably smell pretty ripe too, but neither seem to mind. “Gonna put a noose up?”

“I would, but I don’t trust the general public to not try and hang themselves,” Castiel says dryly. 

“Good point,” Dean nods. 

“This is all I had planned for today,” Castiel says, starting to unclip his tool belt. “Would you like to come over for dinner?”

“You cook?” Dean asks, lifting a brow in surprise. 

Castiel’s smile widens by a fraction, “I know a thing or two.”

“Count me in,” Dean says emphatically, before he catches a whiff of himself. “Uh- do you mind if I head home first to clean up?”

Castiel seems to give Dean a once-over, his dark eyes unreadable. After a pause, he says, “Sure. Dinner should be ready by the time you’re over.”

“Great,” Dean won’t question that odd look despite the way it threatens to curl his toes, and he leans in to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. The affection he gives the man is easy as breathing, which is slightly surprising because Dean is usually about as touchy-feely as a cactus. Besides, the suffused warmth that flickers in Castiel’s eyes whenever Dean offers soft affection is enough encouragement to keep doing it. “I’ll see you soon.”

When Dean gets home he finds Sam at the kitchen table, stuffing salad in his face and perusing something on his tablet. 

“Christ, I leave you alone for six hours and you go full rabbit-nerd on me,” Dean gripes playfully. 

Sam’s face pinches a little, brows tight and nose wrinkled in the practiced expression he reserves specifically for Dean. “Some of us can’t survive on red meat and potatoes.”

“Evolution will weed out your species eventually,” Dean says as he grabs a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water.

“I feel like you have it a little backwards,” Sam says bitchily, but his eyes are glimmering as he returns his gaze to his tablet. “What did you build today?”

“A fuckin’ gallows,” Dean says. He downs the whole glass of water in one go. “I’m gonna clean up and go back to his place for dinner.”

Sam resolutely keeps his eyes on his tablet, “Oh?”

Dean narrows his gaze at his brother as he refills his glass. He knows that tone of voice. He knows that there’s something on the tip of Sam’s tongue that he’s dying to say, but knows that it will probably piss Dean off to no end. So, Dean fills his glass again, brings it to his lips, and feels the vibration through the dish as he falls to Sam’s bait. “What.”

Sam rests his fork on his plate and sets his tablet down on the table, shifting in his chair so he can look at Dean. He looks… concerned? “Are you going to have sex with him?”

Dean spits out his water in surprise, almost dropping his glass in the aftermath. After a few tense seconds of fumbling Dean sets his glass in the sink and grabs the dish towel hanging from the oven door handle, wiping his face and then wiping the floor, loudly exclaiming “What the fuck, Sammy!?” as he does so. When he comes up from cleaning he throws the dish towel at Sam’s face, glaring daggers. 

“It’s a legitimate question,” Sam says plaintively, catching the towel effortlessly like he had expected the launch. He licks his lips, then levels as he idly wrings the towel. “Look- Dean. I’m not stupid, ok? I can see things are different with Castiel. With you. And I need you to know I’m happy for you, alright?” 

Dean is staring at Sam in mild disbelief. He’s going to get whiplash if Sam can’t pick a mood. “Ok? Thanks?” He scrubs a hand over his mouth, frowning viciously. 

“And I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, or how you should go about dating, or whatever, but…” Sam waits for Dean to raise his gaze. “Going slow? This is the first time you’ve done it, and I really think it’s going to work out.”

Dean squints, lips parted slightly as he regards his brother. “What the fuck are you trying to say, Sam? Spit it out, I don’t got all day.”

“Just-” Sam’s face pinches again, before he returns to his regular position in his chair. He picks up his tablet in one hand, his fork in the other, signaling that his next words are his final piece. “Don’t pull the trigger too quickly.”

Dean throws his hands up in the air, “ _Thank you_ , Sammy, for the lecture on keepin’ it in my pants.” He starts to walk away. “Unbelievable.” The bravado is mostly for show, though, because Sam’s words ring true and Dean _does_ appreciate his brother’s concern. He makes the ascent to the master bedroom, going into reflection. Things with Castiel are moving sort of fast for normal standards, but for Dean standards? He may as well be watching molasses drip down a tree in winter. For him this pace is incredibly new, and yet also so easy. 

Easy. That word again. He’s been thinking it a lot lately. There’s a brief flash of _is it_ too _easy_?, but then he thinks about Castiel confessing to him at the lake that he’s likely as difficult to be with as Dean is, he thinks about Castiel batting away the thought of short-term, and mostly he just thinks about… Cas. His grounding presence, his dry wit, his personality so different and yet so complementary to Dean’s own. 

Dean goes through the routine of getting cleaned up on autopilot, his brain elsewise occupied. He dresses in jeans and a blue henley, ruffling his damp hair a bit to get it to stand up some. He’s out the door and calling out a “see ya later” to Sam ten minutes later and then on his way to Castiel’s, feeling a weird twinge of nerves in his stomach. Their picnic date had gone well, but it had been on neutral territory - now Dean is going to be inside Castiel’s home, eating his food, sitting on his furniture. It’s decidedly domestic and Dean tries to think of what it had been like to go to Lisa’s for the first time - or any significant other before her - and he just… can’t remember. 

Which means that, in the end, those pieces of his life had never amounted to anything worth reminiscing. As he pulls up to the curb in front of Castiel’s quaint home in the quaint suburb, Dean finds himself grinning. 

Castiel is well worth remembering.

Up at the door Dean knocks, rocking back on his heels and suddenly wondering if he should have brought something over. That’s standard protocol for being a dinner guest, right? Shit.

Castiel opens the door and Dean can’t be bothered to think about bringing a housewarming gift, because Castiel is _his_ gift and Dean could never even begin to fantasize about what to give the man in return. 

The man is dressed down in black track pants and a blue athletic zippie zipped all the way up to his chin, barefoot and wearing a welcoming smile and…

An _apron_. It’s a pink piece that mimics the shape of a bell-shaped dress, rounded hems giving the illusion of a much curvier body underneath. It’s got a large pocket on the front and cupcakes where breasts would be on a woman, the edges of it frilled white lace.

Dean must take too long to return whatever greeting Castiel gave him, because the man is taking a step back and opening the door wider in request for Dean to get his ass inside. He does just that, stepping in and allowing Castiel to shut the door as he starts toeing off his shoes, his brain-to-mouth filter backfiring horrendously.

“You’d look better with nothing on underneath.”

Wow. _Wow_ Dean Winchester, could you get any hornier and say any more lines that have been used thousands of times before? Also: What happened to “hello” being the standard greeting?

Castiel merely offers a deceptively peaceful smile and no reply as he leaves Dean in the entryway and heads back to the kitchen, where all sorts of delicious smells are coming from. Dean finally gets himself untangled physically and mentally, following after Castiel at a slower pace. His second time in Castiel’s home, and he’s still doing his best to drink it in. On top of the loved antique furniture Dean notices the small things; photos on shelves and the walls, the suspicious lack of a television or any other sort of digital entertainment, and most blessedly - the absence of cat dander. 

The walk from the front door to the kitchen is unobstructed thanks to the floor plan, and Dean enjoys the way his socked feet slip slightly over the polished wood floors. Castiel’s kitchen isn’t as gourmet as Dean’s (Dean’s pretty sure no one in his income bracket cares for gourmet anything), but it’s homey and spacious. Light filters in through sliding glass doors on the right side, the venetian blinds pulled halfway to send stripes across the floor. The cabinets are all a dark stained wood, the fixtures polished and round, and none of the appliances match but they’re all fairly new. Castiel also has an island in the kitchen but it’s much smaller than Dean’s, however no less efficient for what Castiel needs it for. The man himself is currently standing between the island and the stove against the back wall, setting out pot holders. 

“Smells good,” Dean says. Another glance around shows a small kitchen table near the sliding doors, room enough just for two. He walks over towards it, running his fingers along the polished top. “Do you have anything brand-new?”

“No,” Castiel replies easily. It’s the first thing he’s verbally said since Dean entered and the zing it sends through Dean’s body is a baleful reminder of how much Dean enjoys hearing - needs to hear - Castiel’s low voice. 

“S’more money to go antiquing than it is to scroll through Wayfair,” Dean says, but not unkindly. In fact, his voice is a little fond. He likes this quirk about Castiel. Hell, he likes all of Castiel’s quirks so far. He wonders what he’ll discover that will lead him to believe that the man isn’t perfect. He wonders _if_ he’ll find anything like that. Rose-tinted glasses and all.

“I also enjoy refurbishing thrifted items on my own,” Castiel reminds him. Dean moves to stand in front of the sliding glass doors, peering into the back yard. It’s not as large as Dean’s but it’s much… busier, with a few flower beds, shrubs, and a fountain gurgling near the back. Movement near his feet makes him glance down and he sees a beautiful long-haired black cat slinking around outside, clearly enjoying the late afternoon sun. “I did that table and the matching chairs a few weekends ago.”

Dean turns his attention away from the cat, who seems fine being ignored. His gaze sweeps over the table; it’s dark cherry wood, the whorls and rings almost black and shiny with sealant. The edges are rounded and match the backs of the chairs, and Dean doesn’t have a professional opinion but these look damn incredible. His eyes take in the dark red cushions strapped to the lower parts of the chair backs, lifting his gaze to take in the other red accents in the kitchen; pot holders, dish towels, the tea kettle, the backsplash behind the stove. He takes stock of the living room, noting the creams and more palatable colors like soft greens and blues, and can tell that Castiel has an even crazier eye for detail than Dean can imagine. 

“It’s beautiful,” Dean finally compliments, because it’s been a few minutes since Castiel had told him about the dining set. He knows that Castiel didn’t need him to say anything, but he felt he had to, anyway. He moves away from the table to stand on the opposite side of the island. “Can I help?”

“Set the table,” Castiel… commands? No. It was too soft to be a command, but firmer than a suggestion.

Dean finds himself obeying in any case, moving towards the cupboards by the fridge. He opens a few before he finds what he’s looking for. “Plates?”

“Plates,” Castiel confirms. He’s stirring something in a bowl somewhat distractedly.

Dean grabs two plates and finds the silverware drawer on the first try, grabbing two forks and moving to set the table. There’s a napkin holder stuffed full with napkins on top of the fridge, and he grabs it when he spots it, setting it on the table before he meanders back. “What’s to drink?” 

Sensing that Dean is asking if he should grab glasses, Castiel nods towards the fridge. “Your pick.”

Grinning at the choice, Dean moves towards the fridge. He has to remind himself that this fridge is the perfect size and capacity for a bachelor living alone as he opens it, unused to not seeing more shelves than necessary and stuffed to the brim with all sorts of goodies. There’s a six-pack of a local IPA, but Dean isn’t really a fan, so his hand snakes past that and towards a pitcher filled with what looks like lemonade.

“Ah,” Castiel finally gives Dean his attention, small smile on his lips. “Good choice. I pressed that juice this morning.”

Dean pauses as the fridge door swings shut, leveling Castiel with an incredulous look. “Cas.”

Castiel stops mixing whatever’s in the bowl, blinking owlishly up at Dean.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Dean tries to keep the wonderment out of his voice. Castiel doesn’t need to know that Dean already thinks he’s fucking perfect, but each little thing Dean is discovering while in his home is taking his feet farther and farther from the ground. People say it’s called ‘falling in love’, but Dean idly thinks that he’s being raised from perdition, and each encounter with Castiel brings him closer to Heaven. 

Castiel smiles wryly, returning to mixing. “I can’t change the oil in my car.”

“Good,” Dean huffs a laugh as he sets the pitcher down on the table and then moves behind Castiel to reach the cupboard he suspects houses the cups. “Gotta be able to put forth something in this relationship.”

A quiet falls, the stillness of the kitchen only disturbed slightly by Dean opening a cupboard and shutting it again when there aren’t any glasses in it. He moves to the left, opening the next one, grinning and pulling down two clean glasses, musing at the fact that Castiel stores his drinkware upside down. 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is soft, deep. It makes Dean turn around to see Castiel facing him, bowl and spoon forgotten, and then suddenly Dean is being crowded against the counter where the (red) toaster is, Castiel pushing up carefully against him from chest to hip, taking care to not make Dean drop the cups. “You contribute a great deal to this… relationship.”

Dean musters the guts to offer a charming, crooked smile. “You sayin’ we’re boyfriends, Cas?”

Castiel has a calculating look in his deep eyes, the depths looking like they hold all the secrets to the world. “Yes.” Dean’s heart swoops low in his belly. “I am also saying that you do much more than you let yourself believe.”

An awkward laugh leaves Dean’s lips and he fucking hates himself for it. He’s got a glass in each hand, arms spread slightly to either side so that he can feel Castiel _intimately_ against his chest and not risk breaking anything. “Setting the table and changing your oil ain’t a big deal.”

Head tilting, Castiel’s eyes rove over every millimeter of Dean’s face. Dean clenches his jaw slightly, unable to look away from Castiel’s eyes. Castiel is examining Dean like he’s seeing him in a new light - and maybe he is - and Dean desperately hopes he passes the test. After all, they just sorta became boyfriends. After about ten seconds Castiel’s gaze meets Dean’s and there’s a small smile curling over his lips. “Two more things than the last even attempted.”

The small reveal into Castiel’s last relationship has Dean letting out a breath, tension leaving his body. Voice soft, Dean lowers his arms slightly so his shoulders stop twinging at the angle he’s holding the glasses out at. “I’ll set the table every night and change your oil every three-thousand miles if it means staying in your good graces.”

Castiel’s smile widens slightly. “Unnecessary, but appreciated all the same.” Castiel leans in and presses a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek before moving out of the man’s personal space, returning to his mixing bowl.

Feeling like he’s got a win under his belt, Dean moves towards the table and takes a seat as he sets the glasses down. “So what’s for dinner? Smells delicious.” There’s nothing on the range, Dean notes, so that means that whatever’s cooking is probably in the oven.

“Seven layer lasagna,” Castiel replies. The mystery dish he’s been mixing must be done, because he sets the bowl and the spoon down on the table. Dean peers into it, seeing noodles, meats, olives, and what looks like feta cheese all mixed up with some sort of balsamic oil. “And my secret recipe antipasto.”

“Salad with no lettuce,” Dean rubs his palms together. “You’re a man after my own heart.”

“I thought I would pull all the stops early,” Castiel says in that dry way that belies the humor behind his words.

It makes Dean laugh anyway. “What even goes into a seven layer lasagna? I thought it was just noodles, sauce, and cheese.”

“You poor, uneducated man,” Castiel sighs as he opens up the oven. He puts on two red oven mitts and pulls out the casserole dish, setting it on a pot holder on the island. As soon as the lasagna comes out, the scent explodes into Dean’s nostrils. “Perhaps if you like it I’ll give you the recipe.”

“Or if I like it you can just cook it for me every Sunday,” Dean says with a wink.

Castiel grabs the plates off of the table and sends Dean a smile. “I’m sure we could come to an agreement.” He dishes a neatly portioned slice of lasagna onto each plate and then puts the food on the table, reaching behind himself to untie the apron. He hangs it up on a hook by the pantry door before finally sitting down across from Dean, looking satisfied. “I haven’t made this dish in too long.” He serves Dean a helping of the antipasto, then himself, and then picks up his fork, seeming to hesitate a little.

Out of politeness Dean wasn’t aware he had, he waits, too. Glancing down at the food, at the way Castiel’s fingers twitch, something niggles in the back of his head. He asks softly, “Do you want to say grace?”

Castiel doesn’t answer for a moment. He stares down at his plate with the weight of the world and Dean’s surprised the legs of the table don’t collapse under the pressure of it. The only noise Dean can hear is his own breathing, and even that has quieted. Castiel has mentioned his religious folks, but Dean wasn’t sure how much of that carried into Castiel’s personal life. He considers himself agnostic, but he’s already accepted that he’s willing to bend to anything Castiel would like. This wouldn’t be so far of a stretch. Saying grace is something Dean could do easily. Going to church on Sunday mornings is a little more arguable.

“I have so much to be thankful for,” Castiel suddenly says. He’s talking to his plate, not Dean, even if there’s conviction in his words. A strength to them. “I haven’t felt the need to say grace in so long. What was the point when my life was stagnant? Should I have thanked God for allowing me to get wrapped up in the mundane?” Castiel finally lifts his gaze to Dean, causing the mechanic to lose his breath slightly at the intensity of it. The fire of it. “Should I have thanked Him for Arthur leaving me and the depression that ensued?” He shakes his head, reeling in his vigor and taking a calming breath. “I haven’t had anything to be thankful for except for my own will to go on. That came from within myself. Not from God.”

Dean knows Castiel is talking to hear himself, not looking for a response. Dean doesn’t have one, anyway. This sounds like something long coming, like something Castiel has been searching for until this very moment. Dean will let him have his revelation, and marvel at the sincerity of it, indulge in Castiel’s inability to be anything but open and honest. It’s admirable. 

“But you, Dean.” A small smile unfurls on Castiel’s lips, and the corners of his eyes soften as he regards the other man. “I am thankful for you.”

Swallowing thickly, Dean isn’t quite sure how to categorize the emotions flooding through him. The only thing that comes to the surface is a mutual thankfulness for Castiel’s presence in his life. Dean feels the words tugging at his heart, threatening to push out of his chest and plop onto his dinner plate, but he clears his throat to gather himself, reaching across the table to rest his hand gently atop Castiel’s. Castiel’s knuckles had turned white in their grip on his fork, and Dean’s touch immediately soothes his hold, some of the tension bleeding from Castiel’s body as he sags slightly in his chair and sets his fork down on the table.

“No matter what you believe the reason is for us being right here, right now,” Dean says, his deep voice trying to stop up. Pure stubbornness keeps it steady, “I’m here. And I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Cas.”

Castiel ducks his head to hide the relieved smile that filters over his lips. “I suppose it would be blasphemous to use your name in grace instead of God’s.”

Dean feels a flirty smirk curling the corners of his mouth, “I’d love to hear you say my name in prayer.”

Castiel’s head whips up at those words, eyes dark. Ironic that this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back, Dean thinks idly as Castiel rises from his seat and rounds the table on silent feet. Because Dean is pretty positive that Castiel is an angel sent from above. And from above he comes, descending onto Dean’s lap, strong thighs bracketing Dean’s waist, hands at the base of Dean’s neck to tilt his head back so their lips can crash together. Dean’s hands automatically reach for Castiel’s ass, manners be damned, pleased when Castiel’s hips roll down against his. Dinner cools while Castiel devours Dean instead and if Dean thought the soul searching kiss at the lake was phenomenal, then this kiss is astronomical. Celestial. All thoughts get wiped from his head as Castiel’s fingers run through his hair, tugging on the longer strands on top sharply, the tendrils of pleasure snaking through Dean’s body causing him to groan into Castiel’s mouth. The chair creaks under their combined weight but neither of them seem worried as Castiel squirms closer, panting into Dean’s mouth, rucking up the mechanic’s shirt to splay long, strong fingers over his abdomen. 

Reflexively Dean flexes, breath whooshing out of him at the contact. Castiel moans softly and pulls back, unzipping his sweater and tossing it carelessly to the side, revealing a worn v-neck underneath. Dean starts pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the tanned column of Castiel’s neck, feeling his pulse, tasting his skin, all while Castiel continues rolling his hips down to seek out friction. Dean’s pretty pinned as is, so his range of motion is limited, but his hands slide up from Castiel’s ass to the hem of his shirt, starting to push it up the hard lines of Castiel’s body.

With the shirt out of the way Dean gets an eyeful of Castiel’s lean, strong chest, slender like a swimmer’s but strong like a runner’s. He has no tan lines and Dean huffs out a laugh when he notices, Castiel merely smiling serenely in return as Dean leans forward to start biting and nipping at his collarbones. He feels like a damn teenager with Castiel writhing on his lap but he also feels too damn good to stop, or care, his hands sliding down the smooth s-line of Castiel’s spine before his palms rest on the man’s ass again.

“Dean,” Castiel does, indeed, breathe his name like a prayer and Dean feels almighty, all powerful as the man comes apart under his mouth and fingers. It takes a bit of finagling but soon Dean’s right hand slips past the waistband of Castiel’s track pants, finding the man’s hard cock and squeezing the base, wrapping his fingers around it to try and measure its size without directly looking at it. Thick. Full. Heavy. Dean’s mouth waters a little. “ _Dean_...”

“Shh baby,” Dean murmurs, before he kisses his way to one of Castiel’s nipples, sucking the hardening flesh into his mouth as he starts jerking Castiel slow and tight. Castiel’s fingers tangle in what they can of Dean’s hair, keeping his head and mouth in place, his body still undulating smoothly. “Fuck, you’re so hot Cas.” That’s probably the understatement of the fucking century, but Dean can’t really fire enough neurons to get real words to come out of his otherwise occupied mouth.

Castiel’s hands leave Dean’s hair to scrabble down his back, pulling him slightly away from the back of the chair. Fingers grab the back of Dean’s shirt, pulling and tugging the fabric up - Dean gets the hint and leans forward, allowing Castiel to pull the shirt over his head. He has to let go of Castiel’s cock in order to get it totally off, but when he sits back against the chair and looks up at Castiel, the other man doesn’t look ready to complain. In fact, he’s regarding Dean with the awe on his face that Dean feels in his Goddamn soul, and then their lips are crashing together again, magnetized to one another. Now Castiel’s deft fingers are popping open the fastening of Dean’s jeans before Dean even realizes, and when those beautiful fingers grip Dean’s cock he breaks the kiss to let out a strangled groan, head dropping over the back of the chair as his eyes squeeze tight. 

_Don’t come don’t come don’t come don’t come._

His own hands return to Castiel’s ass now that the other has shimmied his track pants down a fraction more; one of Dean’s palms cups the meat of Castiel’s glorious, firm ass, his other hand returning to stroking his cock. There’s limited space, two large men on a not so large chair, but as they jerk each other off their knuckles brush and occasionally the heads of their cocks knock together and it’s fucking _amazing_ , clumsy yet coordinated. Dean is barreling towards the edge way faster than he’d like, but Castiel seems to be on the same page, and it only takes another minute or two of frotting before Dean leans forward to latch his teeth over Castiel’s pec, biting the beautiful curve of it as his orgasm crests. He splurts hot over Castiel’s hand and in the next instant he feels another, hotter heat join his own and the mess quickly cools and starts dribbling down over his knuckles. They breathe heavily in tandem for a few breaths before Castiel leans back slightly on Dean’s thighs, his weight much more noticeable now that Dean’s brain isn’t addled by arousal. 

“Damn,” Dean manages to laugh, looking down at the mess between them.

“My apologies,” Castiel murmurs, elegantly extricating himself from Dean’s lap and hold. He grabs some napkins from the holder on the table and cleans himself up, before grabbing fresh ones to do Dean the same favor. He adjusts his pants, disposes of the napkins, and then bends to pick up his t-shirt. As he pulls it on, Dean sees the sated flash of his smile. “That got a little out of hand.”

“Actually it went perfectly in hand,” Dean says with a salacious wink, buttoning up his pants and pulling on his own shirt.

Castiel laughs brightly, the sound melodious. “That is correct, I suppose.” He bends down to kiss Dean on the mouth much slower than before, a little less hungry, but still with meaning. Dean melts into it, and tries not to pout when Castiel pulls away to return to his seat on the other side of the table. “I hope we worked up your appetite.”

Dean snorts at Castiel’s shift from being a sex kitten to Susie Homemaker. Shaking his hands idly, he enjoys the post-orgasmic bliss as he picks up his fork, sending a smile over towards Castiel. “In more ways than one.” Before either of them take a bite, Dean says one last thing: “Thank you, Lord, for this meal.” A wink. “And many more to come.”

“You’re going straight to Hell,” Castiel admonishes with sparkling eyes, picking up his own fork.

There are worse ways to go, Dean thinks.

The rest of the evening goes well. Castiel could open a fucking restaurant, his food is so good, and Dean is so full when they go onto the back porch to sit on the cushioned swing and watch the sun set. It’s simple, romantic even, the new level of intimacy between them making touches flow smoother, land surer. It’s nearing nine when Dean decides to call it a night and Castiel walks him to his car like a gentleman, kissing him slow and deep before pulling away with a promising smile.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas,” Dean says, nearly throwing himself into his car. The longer he lingers the harder it will be to leave and as much as he would like to stay the night, he still has the inspiration to keep moving at a moderate pace. Even if he’d just been given the best handjob of his life.

As he pulls away from the curb and heads home, he feels way more relaxed and at ease than he has in the past... damn, ten years. So much for not pulling the trigger too early. And yet, instead of feeling panicked, Dean feels... emboldened. This is the right thing. The right timing.

 _Castiel_ is right.

And for the first time in Dean's life, he feels anything but scared of the possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the insertion of castiel's apron was, indeed, as purposeful as you may think.  
> we're gonna start leaning away from the room and puzzle-y elements of the story and focus more on this beautiful blossoming relationship.  
> thank you all so much to those commenting and leaving kudos, holy crap. you guys really know how to wow a girl.  
> keep 'em coming x


	6. Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was trying to keep the chapters at 10k but that was a little too ambitious of me lol  
> last chapter was meant to be a segue into the rest of the story and i fucking hated it, but you know what they say about "write your way around writer's block" or... whatever.  
> the floodgates have opened and now i feel like updates will come much quicker (hence 2 updates in 2 days, wowowowowee)  
> i hope you're ready :)

This week Dean’s employees are avoiding him again - although this time it’s specifically to avoid incurring any wrath should they accidentally wander into his path. It’s been a long time since Dean has been so… volatile - and that’s the damn word, too, because Dean never does things in halves - and his crew is having a hard time coming to terms with it, _especially_ after such an amazing day just last week. This Dean, though? They can handle. Twitterpated Dean is still uncharted territory. Rage Dean is old news. 

“There’s no way we can do it, Bobby, why the hell did you authorize it?”

Dean’s voice carries through every single bay effortlessly. Garth and Benny both exchange looks from under the hood of a Ford Focus; Garth flinches when Dean throws a wrench into another pile of tools noisily, Benny barely blinking as he returns to work. 

“The fucking auto show is in a month! I can’t restore three cars on my own in that time, man!”

Another clatter and clang, and Dean stalks into the office, slamming the door behind him. The resounding echoing silence doesn’t last long - thin walls and all that. 

“Garth is still an apprentice, he can’t have his own car! Yeah- yeah I _know_ Benny can take the Camaro on his own- but-”

Bobby must have said his final piece and hung up, because Dean is letting out a garbled, frustrated yell and the ensuing sound is most likely him kicking his chair across the room. Pissed Off Dean is a force to be reckoned with, but it’s familiar ground, and Benny claps Garth on the shoulder as he grabs a rag to start wiping his hands, sauntering over towards the office. He raps his knuckles on the door out of politeness, but opens it before Dean can reply. 

Dean is sitting at his desk, elbows on the surface and his face buried in his hands. His right knee is jiggling uncontrollably and the office doesn’t really look that messy after all despite all the noise, which makes Benny proud. He sits down in the chair on the other side of Dean’s desk, still idly wiping his hands.

“Talk to me, brother.”

“Why does Bobby feel the need to be such a dick when he left the business to _me_?” Dean gripes. His voice is steady. “The asshole brought on three restorations for the show next month.”

Benny nods slowly, allowing Dean to cool off and say whatever he needs to say.

“I know I can rely on you, Benny,” Dean says with a sigh, finally straightening up. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lets his hands fall to the desk as he levels his friend with his gaze. “Bobby thinks Garth is ready to have his own car.”

“And what does Dean think?” Benny asks evenly.

“I mean-” Dean runs a hand through his already bedraggled hair, gathering his sanity it seems as he sits back heavily in his cushioned chair. “Bobby says it’s an easy job and Garth should be able to handle it easily enough. Nothing wrong with the chassis; needs a buff and a paint and a new exhaust system. Y’know, the kind that spits flames,” Dean makes a flicky motion with his fingers, “so it’s not… totally outside of Garth’s realm.”

Benny just nods his head sagely. 

“You’re right,” Dean says, even though Benny had said nothing. “Bobby just likes to swamp me like this to get a rise outta me. S’nothing I can’t handle.”

“He likes to spring things on you ‘cause he knows you hate surprises,” Benny agrees. He leans forward a little, rag hanging from his fingers between his knees as he levels Dean with his gaze. “You’re wound tighter n’ a top, brother. How are you and your sweetheart doing?”

It’s Wednesday, and Dean hasn’t seen Castiel since their dinner date on Sunday. They text fairly frequently, but Castiel’s getting ready to open shop with the Old West town so he’s been pretty swamped. And Dean - welp, now he’s going to be in the swamped category too. But Benny’s question has him smiling all the same, his mood lightening both thanks to Benny and the thought of his boyfriend. “We’re great. _He’s_ great, Benny.”

“I’m glad to see you on your feet,” Benny says, his warm tone and soft blue eyes always something like _home_ to Dean. “Maybe you should see him this weekend. Let some steam off.” And because Benny is Benny he doesn’t necessarily mean that in a sexual way; the man has an odd, deep understanding of Dean’s deep-rooted need for affection and reassurance. In fact, a lot of the time Benny provides that for Dean. Maybe not at the caliber that Dean needs, since they’re not romantically involved, but enough that makes things passable for Dean whenever he’s stressed at work.

“Thanks Benny,” Dean says, voice soft and eyes reflecting the warmth in Benny’s. “Guess we’ll go give Garth the good news, huh? He’ll be excited.”

“An’ no matter what you say,” Benny says while standing, “no matter what Bobby says. This garage is yours, Dean, and you’re doin’ a damn good job.”

“Still could stand for that fucker to just _retire_ and stop tryna give us jobs,” Dean grumbles, but not necessarily grumpily as he passes Benny to leave the office.

Benny laughs as he follows, “He would die of boredom.”

Dean grins. “You’re right.”

\--

**To: Cas  
I’m about to lose my mind**

Dean fires off the text on Thursday on a break between rotating tires. He hasn’t seen Castiel since Sunday, still, and that’s just about the cherry on top of the week he’s having. Not only did Bobby dump three cars on him a month before the show, but the owner of the Thunderbird Dean is working on is a total bag of dicks. An _entire_ bag. Not short a single dick. Crawler or something, Dean doesn’t know since he sort of tuned the man out when he came to drop off his prize. Not really that professional but Dean also thinks that strangling a customer is pretty _un_ professional, so he chooses his coping mechanisms carefully. He’s got a paper copy of what the guy wants done to his car, anyway.

Castiel’s reply comes quick.

**Are you alright?**

Dean feels himself smiling. It’s not even eleven in the morning so Castiel should be in the full swing of things, but he replied quickly. Dean feels sort of needy and guilty for texting Castiel and distracting him, but a smaller part of him really likes the way that Castiel is attentive. 

**got 3 restores in 1 month. kind of feeling overwhelmed**

**Is that an unmanageable workload? My frame of reference for auto shop tasks is a little rusty. :p**

Dean chuckles, kicking his feet off the ground to spin slowly in his chair. 

**it’s ok i guess. Garth is an apprentice but he got an easy car. Benny is like a guardian angel so he’ll do me right. Bobby just sprung it all on us last minute so i’m pissed**

**Come over Sunday. I can help you relax.**

Tipping his head back, Dean tries to quell the heat that floods his body, doing his best to channel it into a fuzzy feeling in his heart. It’s not difficult, because he still manages to marvel at how selfless and thoughtful Castiel is. Even when Dean’s being a whiny baby. He hopes Castiel has another delicious dish on the menu. Food cures everything, right?

**see u then xo**

\--

By the time Sunday rolls around, Dean is fried. He’d pulled a full Saturday for the first time in a year and was feeling it in his bones. Garth was proving to be a decent hand; and he damn well better be, because he had trained under Dean himself. Benny worked independently and best on his own, and Dean trusts that man with everything he’s got so he doesn’t bother checking in on him. But babysitting Garth all while trying to deal with that Crowley guy has Dean strung out and feeling like he’s going to collapse. He went right past Rage Dean and straight to Overachiever Dean. He’s gonna show that fucking Crowley guy.

Dean knocks on Castiel’s door and rubs his face with his hand a few times, trying to wipe off his sorry ass expression. He knows Castiel is going to see him at all kinds of good and bad but he’d like to put off the bad for as long as possible. Whining to the man through text was already a surprising turn of events. Dean doesn’t _whine_ to anyone.

Castiel opens the door, and the first thing that registers is the smell of something herby and rich cooking. The second thing that Dean notices is Castiel wearing a black silk bathrobe and apparently… nothing underneath?

“This a bad time?” Dean jokes around the lump in his throat. Amazing that Castiel can still tie his tongue in knots when they’d given each other mutual handjobs last weekend. 

Castiel smiles wryly, “The perfect time. I have soup in a crockpot, it’s ready when we are to eat it.”

The way Castiel says those words has Dean arching a brow as he comes in and shuts the door behind him. He starts toeing off his shoes, “And what are we going to do before we eat?”

“Leave the week behind us,” Castiel says. “Follow me.”

Something about Castiel makes it so easy to… obey. Dean’s normally dominant personality seems to take a back burner whenever he’s with Castiel and that should freak him out, but instead it’s… a little comforting to not be behind the wheel for once. Dean isn’t used to letting go of control, but he’s more than happy to hand it over to Castiel. He can’t dwell too much on what that means or what will come of it because Castiel leads him to his bedroom, and Dean feels his extremities tingle in anticipation when he realizes it.

The room is as ‘refurbished second hand’ as the rest of the house, but leagues above in elegance. Unlike the rest of the house in here all of the wood is a much lighter tone, almost sandy grey, and the accent colors are lilacs and turquoise. The walls are painted a light grey, an accent wall wallpapered in an argyle pattern with purple, yellow, and teal. There’s a big window on the left covered in thick lilac colored blackout curtains, a ceiling fan turning slowly above, and the bed definitely looking like something out of a showcase with all the pillows and the way it’s pristinely made. Soft colors like this aren’t really Dean’s forte, his own house decorated in strong, dark colors, and he wouldn’t even associate them with Castiel, really. Not until now. Seeing Castiel start to pull some of the decorative pillows off of the bed, Dean thinks that this room is _very_ Castiel. The colors remind him of a soft Spring day by a lake, or the ocean, the palate calming and soothing. The occasional splashes of the darker colors, royal purple and teal, keep the space intimate. Dean definitely likes it. 

“Gonna leave the week behind with a nap?” Dean asks, stupidly nervous all of a sudden for no damn reason.

Castiel finishes pulling the pillows off of the bed and leaves the covers neatly drawn. He climbs onto the bed on his knees and reaches into the pocket of his robe and pulls something out - a silk scarf flowing from his fingertips - as he sends Dean a smile. “I assure you, you will want to be awake for this.”

Arousal jolts through Dean’s body before he can fully process Castiel’s words. His breath comes a little short as Castiel sets the black scarf down on the bed, turning away from Dean to start reaching behind the headboard, between the wood and the wall. Dean can’t exactly see what he’s doing, but when Castiel pulls a coil of black nylon rope out and lays it next to the scarf, Dean feels his cock twitch. 

“Cas…”

“I haven’t seen you all week,” Castiel says conversationally. The mirror above the bed is apparently on a sliding track because Castiel pushes it from the bottom, gently sliding it upwards to reveal a D-ring mounted into the wall. He grabs the rope and threads it through, long, skilled fingers looping the rope until a knot catches. He gives a testing yank and then lets the rope dangle. “But I could tell through your texts that you need a… distraction from everything going on in your life.”

“Does this room double as a sex dungeon?” Dean tries to joke. Castiel working with that rope is… doing things to Dean. 

“This room is whatever you would like it to be,” Castiel says, turning and sitting cross-legged. A flash of skin lets Dean know that the man is, indeed, naked under his robe. “Undress.”

The command sifts through Dean’s slightly frayed nerves like a balm and he complies readily. It’s amazing and a little startling that all of the tension and frustration he’d been feeling all week bleeds out of him with every article of clothing that he drops to the floor. Once he’s fully naked he resists the urge to cover himself; hell, they’d gotten past modesty rather quickly last week, but this is… different. Feels different.

Castiel moves towards the edge of the bed, slipping off his robe as he does so, the silk of it sliding across his tan skin. He lets the robe fall to the floor and he sits at the edge of the bed, knees spread; his cock is soft and Dean licks his lips at the sight, quickly raising his gaze up to Castiel’s face. The man’s expression is placid, but his eyes are dark as he lifts his hands in a silent gesture. Stepping forward, Dean stands between Castiel’s legs, letting out a slow breath when the palms of Castiel’s hands rest low on his ribs, fingers curling around the span of Dean’s sides. His thumbs stroke the lowest bone on each side, the press going more solid every time Dean inhales, and they stand there in silence for a few moments before Castiel starts sliding his hands over the expanse of Dean’s skin.

“As I said, this room is whatever you would like it to be.” Castiel’s voice is soft, but sure. “I would like it to be an escape for you. A place for you to forget about all of your worries.”

Dean swallows thickly, Castiel’s slow exploration of his torso almost too distracting. “Cas…” he licks his lips when Castiel leans forward to press a kiss over his sternum. “Uh, not to try and break the mood but uh… are you like- … y’know…”

He can feel Castiel’s teeth against his skin when the man smiles. “It’s not as complicated as you think. I’ve done a lot of dabbling in the past, when I was much younger. I’ve fallen out of the scene, but always held it close to my heart.” His hands slide up Dean’s chest, over his collarbones and to his shoulders. The touch isn’t feather-light anymore, but not so firm that it pushes Dean away. Grounds him. “I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Dean huffs out a breathless, surprised laugh. Castiel confessing his BDSM life is so far out of left field that Dean feels trapped in the batter’s box. He thinks about the man’s profession, how he caters to each role individually, accurately… he thinks about The Warden, especially, and now it all sort of slots together. Castiel is well versed in donning different manners of control in order to suit the situation to his needs. Professionally, it’s acting the part of the characters dedicated to whatever room is on. Personally… Castiel is morphing into a dominant caretaker, and Dean’s not totally stupid about the line Castiel is asking him to cross, but he’s still not fully fluent in it, either.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt comfortable enough with someone to suggest it,” Castiel says softly. Another glimpse into the past relationship that didn’t work out. “But I understand if this isn’t the path you wish to go down.”

“I-” Dean shakes his head a little, trying to clear the haze of arousal and slight confusion. “You gotta be straight with me, Cas. What are you asking of me?”

“Trust,” Castiel replies easily. He tilts his head up towards Dean, his chin resting on the man’s sternum, eyes dark, but open. Honest. “Allow me to take care of you. I was going to wait to bring up this conversation, but you’re so tight with tension as is from this week… I don’t want to see you suffer.”

“So- what, you’re going to spank it out of me?” Deflect with jokes. Way to go, Winchester.

Castiel takes it in stride. “If that’s something you would like.”

“Not quite sure what I’d like,” Dean finally opts for honesty. “Cas, this is… kind of a lot.”

“We don’t have to,” Castiel slides his hands down Dean’s shoulders, fingertips ghosting past his biceps and elbows, down to his wrists. He lifts Dean’s hands up to his head, encouraging him to sift his fingers through his messy, soft hair. “May I tell you what I had in mind for today?”

“Considering you answered the door confidently in a robe, I have a feeling I would agree to anything you suggest,” Dean murmurs truthfully.

“I would like to tie you up,” Castiel says. He starts pressing open-mouthed kisses across Dean’s chest. He’s incredibly intimate with his affection today, clearly doing his best to keep Dean on board and comfortable. Dean appreciates it. His gaze lifts to the wall above the headboard where the black rope hangs from the D-ring, listening to Castiel’s words. “Just your hands.”

Dean shifts slightly from foot to foot, before he replies softly. “Ok…” Just his hands won’t be too bad.

Taking the assent, Castiel slides his hands around Dean’s waist towards his back, fingertips sliding down his spine. “We could always work our way up to something more, later.”

Dean nods, even though Castiel can’t see it from where he’s laying butterfly kisses over his abdomen. “Ok.” He says it with a bit more clarity. This is all definitely a sudden switch of direction, but Dean is taking it for what it is: an exercise in trust. Both Dean and Castiel had admitted past relationship faults to one another, and had come to a subconscious decision to tackle them together. From Dean to Castiel, it means being present. It means being there for Castiel whenever he needs him emotionally, physically, mentally. A support beam on a shaky foundation that Castiel has been trying desperately to rebuild. And from Castiel… now Dean can see what he needs from Castiel. Support - emotional, romantic support - and control. And for both of them, steady ground to stand on. Loyalty. A guiding light.

Dean tries to think back to when things had gotten so deep for them.

Their picnic date at the lake flashes in the forefront of his mind, the image of Castiel standing knee-deep in the water he doesn’t know how to swim in, confessing his shortcomings to Dean with all the hope in the world that Dean wouldn’t run away before anything good could happen. He thinks about Castiel showing up on his back porch with a six pack and hugs for Charlie and Gilda and a warm smile for Sam. He thinks about the strength he had seen in all of those instances, and for once, Dean allows himself to feel weak.

Not weak in a negative way… but an oddly open way. Weak in the way that he knows Castiel will pull him up with his strength.

“I want it, Cas,” Dean finally says, his voice a little hoarse. He pushes past the roughness in his throat and looks down at Castiel, using his grip in the man’s hair to get his head to tilt back so their eyes can meet. “I want you. Show me. Show me what to do.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out his name like the prayer he reserves it as, standing up so he can slot their mouths together.

The kiss is hungry and slow, Castiel’s hands moving to cup under Dean’s jaw. Castiel’s tongue sweeps into Dean’s mouth and he rides shotgun happily, allowing Castiel to set the pace and call the shots. He starts maneuvering them both so they clamber onto the bed, the kiss breaking into smaller ones before Castiel guides Dean to sit up against the headboard. He situates some pillows behind Dean’s back so it’s not uncomfortable against the wood and then Castiel sits on Dean’s lap, their hard cocks not touching but still dousing each other in warmth from proximity. 

“Are you aware of the stoplight system?” Castiel asks, his voice smooth and totally belying the way his dark eyes flash with arousal at the sight of Dean willfully raising his arms without direction. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He doesn’t really, since he’s never been in this situation, but it’s not hard to figure out what Castiel means. 

Castiel grabs Dean’s wrists where they’re resting against the wall, carefully threading the rope around them. The material isn’t scratchy at all, soft and smooth as Castiel starts slowly winding it around Dean’s wrists.

“Color.”

“Green.”

Castiel works quickly and sits back a little, giving a tug - Dean’s wrists snap up together tightly, knuckles knocking against the wall. He tests the give of the rope and finds none, his cock giving an excited twitch. He’s always known Castiel is handy, quite literally, but feeling the fruits of the delicate labor of being trussed up… Dean feels secure, but not vulnerable as he laces his fingers together to keep them from bending awkwardly.

The smile on Castiel’s lips is sinful as he leans in, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean’s vision blackens and the soft material of the silk scarf encases his head and he feels his breath hitch - Castiel pauses, and Dean licks his lips, taking a moment to try and calm his accelerating heartbeat.

“Green.”

“This will only go as far as you allow it, Dean.”

Dean nods, not able to trust his voice anymore. He can’t see, his hands are tied, and Castiel’s weight is still warm, solid on his thighs. Grounding. Constant. He’s a little disappointed that he hadn’t suspected Castiel to have these kind of roots sooner.

“I don’t want you to think of me as some sort of… Dom,” Castiel’s voice comes right next to Dean’s ear, causing a full body shudder. “I only want to take care of you. Not punish you or control you.”

“Please, Cas,” Dean finds himself begging into the darkness of the scarf. 

The weight of Castiel’s body is gone and Dean tries not to moan piteously at the loss. Hands are on top of his thighs sliding upwards and Dean relaxes into the touch, spreading his legs, parting his lips so he can regulate his breathing. His arms being tied above his head leaves his lungs nice and open so he can collect proper breaths, and he’s thankful for that. Fingers circle the base of his weeping cock and give a little tug, and then something hot and wet is on the tip and oh, Castiel’s _mouth_ is exquisite. 

Dean can’t see Castiel, but his mind supplies him with the image of Castiel kneeling between his legs, bent over his cock and worshiping it wholly. A combination of fingers, lips and tongue work Dean over; each touch surprises him and draws a soft gasp, the lack of sight ramping up the arousal bit by bit. And Dean deliriously thinks: How had he not seen it? Simmering underneath the surface. Those dark eyes, the heated looks, the stolen touches. Castiel has always been in complete control of the situation - of Dean - even though he let Dean set the pace. Let Dean tell him that he needed the full course meal before sampling dessert. All of that had been thrown out the window last weekend but in retrospect, Dean figures it was going to happen sooner or later. Spilling their emotions to one another had come too easy, which automatically put their feet closer to the finish line. Castiel who is introverted but _intense_ , shy but forward. Always keeping Dean on his toes. 

Dean’s cock gets engulfed from tip to root in wet heat and Dean’s hips buck, curses falling from his lip as Castiel deep throats him. Warm hands fondle his balls and Dean loses every trail of thought he’d been trying to cling on to, instead lost to the sensations. Unable to see and unable to touch Dean allows himself to become a slave to the pleasure, Castiel merciful in that he doesn’t waste any time finding what makes Dean’s toes curl. The heat leaves and the tip of Castiel’s tongue is sliding on the glans between Dean’s rolled back foreskin and the head of his cock, applying delicious pressure. A pleasure point Dean hadn’t even been aware existed until this very moment. 

“Fuck, fuck, Cas…” Dean babbles, unable to string anything coherent together. 

Castiel doesn’t relent. His tongue tortures that spot from every angle, until he swallows Dean down again, the tip of his nose pressing into Dean’s pelvis. Dean squirms, trying to resist the urge to thrust up into his mouth, but then Castiel’s hands are under Dean’s buttocks, squeezing before _lifting_. Castiel’s physical strength is always a pleasant surprise, but the message he’s trying to send is loud and clear.

Still careful not to be too rigorous, Dean starts fucking up into Castiel’s mouth. It’s slow at first, measured as he tries to get a feel for how deep he can move and how much he can withdraw. Everything is so wet and he feels some spit dribble down his balls to his perineum and he huffs out a breath, hips stuttering. Castiel encourages him with his hands on his ass, helping him thrust up and pull out, and Dean’s arms are flexing and tensing against the ropes, the ache in his shoulders a dull burn compared to the lust simmering deep in his belly. He’s doing his best to hold on, to make this last and draw it out, but with one of his senses blocked off and his hands bound all he can do is drown in Castiel’s presence. His orgasm builds up quicker than he anticipated and he breathes out a warning to Castiel, the man’s response only being to dig his fingers into the flesh of Dean’s ass.

The added grope has Dean coming with a shout, spilling deep into Castiel’s throat. He feels the muscles swallowing around him as Castiel pulls off his cock, licking him clean, and then Castiel’s presence is gone. Nimble fingers work at the ropes around Dean’s wrist, one tug pulling the knot free, Dean’s arms falling to his side with a relieved breath. The blindfold comes off next and Dean’s vision is filled with blue eyes and furrowed brows, Castiel’s hands now cupping Dean’s face to steady his gaze.

“Dean,” Castiel says softly, voice tinged with a bit of concern.

“M’ fine,” Dean slurs slightly. His arms are too limp to reach up and grab Castiel the way he wants to, but he offers his warmest smile. “Feel great.”

The smile that blossoms over Castiel’s face is everything Dean knows; afternoons sun-warmed and filled with sawdust, and Dean allows Castiel to arrange him down on the bed. Blankets are being pulled up, pillows arranged, and Dean thinks idly about the fact that he’s the only one that had an orgasm, before he blissfully falls into the beckoning quiet of being wrapped up in Castiel’s solid arms and sleep.

\--

When Dean wakes up, his arms feel sore, but he as a whole feels rested. Even his mood is up as he opens his eyes and stares at the soft grey ceiling, the fan whirling slowly. There’s warmth at his side and Dean rolls into it, eyes falling on a snoozing Castiel. His face is smooth in sleep, lashes long against his cheeks, lips slightly parted and nose wheezing lightly. Dean chuckles to himself, sitting up with only a slight wince from his shoulders. Scrubbing his face with a hand he untangles from the blankets and picks up his boxers off of the floor, donning them so he can make the short trek to the bathroom and relieve himself. 

Catching his reflection in the mirror as he rinses his mouth out with water, Dean is surprised to see his eyebags gone and his eyes bright. Jesus, Castiel’s version of ‘unwinding’ really did the trick. Dean looks like he had slept eight hours every night this week. A glance at the clock on the wall shows that it’s only eight o’clock, the sun still up in the sky thanks to the summer rotation. Smiling to himself Dean heads back to the bedroom, crawling into bed and pressing a soft kiss against Castiel’s temple.

The man stirs a little, eyes squinty as they open and regard Dean. “How do you feel?”

“Like a million bucks,” Dean says honestly. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Castiel snorts softly, shifting so he can sit up against the headboard. Dean glances up to see the mirror back in place and no evidence of the rope. “I’m glad I could offer my services.”

“Seriously though,” Dean says, now that his head isn’t fogged with lust and frustration from the week. “When were you going to tell me about your illicit past life?” 

Castiel smiles wryly, “This weekend, actually. I wanted to have an in-depth conversation with you, but you were so… heavy, when you came over, that I decided to show you with actions rather than explain in words. We can still have the conversation, though.”

Dean nods, reclining next to Castiel against the headboard. “I’m still on board. I uh, I guess I just wanna know about… you. Your past.”

Castiel nods, his voice turning a bit reflective. “When I was in college, I was spiraling out of control. I was still reeling from my parent’s estrangement, and struggling with my own personal beliefs. I needed to find a way to anchor myself to reality. My partner in psychology class got the brunt of my emotions since we were instructed to do emotional exercises together frequently. He sent me a link to a local website, and that’s where I learned about the BDSM world.” He chuckles dryly. “It shook me to my core. I was running from religion straight into the arms of gay sex and leather. It was such an extreme, that at first it only made sense ironically. And then I started to get educated, and met people, and it made sense…. Intrinsically.”

Dean nods slowly to show he’s listening. “What all did you learn?”

“A little bit of everything,” Castiel says, reaching up to ruffle his hair idly. “I was a sub for a year. I figured it would be the best way to figure everything out… to be the one to give myself over wholly to someone and allow them to take care of me. That way when I became a dom, I would know what situations I was putting people in.”

“Makes sense,” Dean mumbles. “Gotta learn to crawl before you can walk.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, affection in his voice. “I graduated college and moved and left the scene. It’s not a make-or-break deal with me. I’m perfectly capable of being in a relationship without the BDSM elements. Arthur…” Castiel licks his lips. “He’d been the sense of normalcy that I had been craving. Everything felt so black and white with him. I allowed myself to be carried into it for five years. I got the boring job I never wanted. I lived in a house I didn’t decorate. So, eventually, I found other ways to outlet my frustration and let go of my worries.”

“The escape rooms,” Dean realizes.

“It was a passion project for me, but a pipe dream in Arthur’s eyes. When things started to fall in place, things with Arthur started to fall apart.”

“When he said you loved your work more than him,” Dean remembers Castiel mentioning the rift the escape rooms caused in his last relationship. Castiel doesn’t say anything else, so Dean does. “Screw him, man.”

Castiel lifts a brow at Dean. 

“I mean it,” Dean gestures loosely with his hand, still feeling the pleasant ache in his shoulder. “And I mean what I said at the lake, too. You shouldn’t be shot down or left behind because of your passions, man. They need to be celebrated. _You_ need to be celebrated. You went through hell and back for all sorts of different reasons and now- now you know what you want, and you’re accomplishing it, and I’ll kick the ass of anyone who tries to get in your way.”

There’s a smile playing on the corners of Castiel’s lips. “My hero.”

Dean snorts a laugh, shaking his head before his chuckles fade and he looks at Castiel with sincerity. “I love what you’re doing, Cas.”

Castiel holds Dean’s gaze for a moment, before he leans in to press their lips softly together. “And I love what you’re doing, Dean.”

Dean gives him a slightly confused look, “And what’s that?”

Castiel grins. “Saving me.”

Dean’s confusion gives way to a satisfied smile. Looks like he’s not the only one being raised from perdition.

\--

Dean goes to the shop on Monday cured of any and all ailments. He’s got some leftover zuppa toscana from last night in a tupperware container ready to be devoured at lunch and a bounce in his step. Suddenly the whole ‘three cars in one month’ thing doesn’t seem so daunting. When Benny notices Dean’s good mood he says nothing but still offers a knowing smile, and Garth is never known to look a gift horse in the mouth so he doesn’t really talk to Dean unless it’s important.

Dean’s underneath the Thunderbird when he sees shiny dress shoes out of the corner of his eye. Rolling his eyes under the safety of the car, Dean counts backwards from ten, and is only on seven when the smarmy British accent drifts to where he can hear it.

“I’ve always enjoyed the appeal of a man on his back.”

Rolling out from under the car Dean sits up on his crawler, pulling the rag from the front pocket of his overalls so he can wipe his hands clean. “Crowley.”

The man always looks pleased as punch to see Dean. “Hello, Dean. Getting the worm, I see.”

“The sooner I get your car done the sooner you get outta my hair,” Dean gruffs as he stands up, kicking his crawler back under the car so no one trips on it. “What do you want? I have your list.”

“Just checking in on my investment in person,” Crowley says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I know you’re the best in the biz but I can’t help to be nosy.”

“Sure you can,” Dean says, throwing his rag onto his utility cart as he starts walking away from Crowley to head towards the office. Crowley is probably here for a reason, and Dean doesn’t feel like starting a fight where customers can hear. Crowley dutifully follows, anyway, and stands in front of Dean’s desk while Dean sits down in his chair. “What do you want.”

“I’m going to need the girl a week before her due date,” Crowley cuts to the chase.

Dean groans. “Man, what the hell? Why?”

“Photo op,” Crowley says with a greasy smile. “Gotta show off the girl before the parade.”

“One of the parts I ordered isn’t even going to be here until four days before the show,” Dean says. “You know this.”

“I do,” Crowley examines his nails boredly. “Just finish up her paint job and make her driveable, at least. Then she can come back and you can finish her off.”

Dean’s pointer finger itches idly. He’s never really felt the urge to shoot a gun, but something primal and deep within himself wishes he had one so he could just blow this guy’s brains out. He hates that a man like Crowley has a beautiful car like the Thunderbird because he's rich, and not because he actually enjoys cars.

“I’ll give you a bonus,” Crowley finally says, holding up his hands like some sort of peace offering. “Twenty more.”

Schooling his face into petulance, inside Dean feels like throwing up. Crowley is already paying over fifty thousand to have the car restored, since it had come to Dean in a bent, fucked up heap. And Dean’s known to be worth every last penny, which is why a lot of the people who want to have their cars restored from anywhere in a four-state radius come to him every so often. But an extra twenty, as a _tip_? Dean deliriously thinks that it’s obscene, but the rest of his mortgage thinks it’s fair. He could pay off his house with that money and still have some left to treat himself to something nice.

“Fine.” Dean says, like he hates that he’s agreeing to the bribe. And deep down, he is, but then again what Crowley’s asking for isn’t _impossible_. Dean will just have to spend all fifty hours of his work week working on the Thunderbird and leave all of the other regular shop repairs to the other mechanics. “Get out before I change my mind.”

“You’re a saint, Dean,” Crowley says with a gross wink before he leaves the office. 

Dean lets out a breath as soon as he’s sure Crowley’s totally vacated the building, and then lets a slightly hysterical laugh bubble up from his chest. He may have just preemptively committed suicide by agreeing to the task. But the extra money that will go straight into Dean’s pocket has him looking at the big picture. He can deal with a little bit of added stress if it means paying off his house, which he’s been trying to do for the past eight years.

Pulling out his phone, he opens his and Castiel’s thread.

**if you could go on vacation anywhere in the world, where would you go?**

He puts the tupperware container of soup in the microwave to reheat it, tapping the corner of his phone lightly against his chin. When it vibrates he immediately reads the text and finds himself smiling, the trepidation of taking on the task instantly leaving him.

**Anywhere, as long as I could be with you.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come on, you can't tell me you didn't see that coming from cas...  
> comments and kudos keep me warm at night xo


	7. Steamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late!  
> another segue chapter.
> 
>  **heads up:** phone sex

The upcoming auto show and Crowley’s ridiculous demand keeps Dean from seeing Castiel in person. They text frequently, even call each other when they have a moment; Dean feels bad, but Castiel is busy too, his new room gearing up for the test subjects to come through. When they talk Dean can hear the echo of Castiel walking through the wild west town, and Castiel can likely hear the impact wrenches and weird tinny sounds that seem to always echo through garages, and Dean sort of hates it. He hasn’t been to Castiel’s since he was tied up (the memory, sometimes, makes him blush) and he craves the serenity of Castiel’s space. He also has a few more baser cravings, but it’s easy to overlook those when he remembers how Castiel’s smile, presence, scent, just calms Dean down.

A few weeks pass and Dean gets the Thunderbird in drivable condition, Crowley hiring some asshole to come pick it up and drive it to whatever fancy photoshoot it will be a part of. It’s Tuesday, and as soon as the Thunderbird rolls out of the garage Benny comes up behind Dean and claps him on the shoulder, fingers squeezing lightly.

“You should go home, brother. Take the rest of the day off. She’ll be back in the morning.”

Dean glances at the clock. It’s barely eleven and he has no idea where Castiel will be at this time of morning. Turning to give Benny a grateful smile, he returns the friendly pat to the man’s much broader shoulders.

“Thanks, Benny. I’m gonna get outta here.”

It doesn’t take long for Dean to change and slide behind the wheel of his car, pulling out his phone. He should go home and shower and get cleaned up for real, but the need to see Castiel is far too strong. Plus, Castiel has seen Dean post-grease before and had even… liked it. He thumbs over Castiel’s contact, presses ‘call’, and waits.

Castiel picks up on the third ring. “Hello, Dean.”

Tension leaves Dean’s body like the air out of a balloon. “Heya, Cas. You busy?”

“I’m in town,” he replies, his low voice sounding a bit tired. ‘In town’ is their shortened way of saying he’s neck-deep in the wild west town. “You don’t normally call at this time. Is everything alright?”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a little laugh that might sound a little hysterical. He’s so exhausted. “Everything’s good, Cas. I uh… the Thunderbird got picked up today for a photoshoot so Benny kicked me out for the rest of the day.”

“Oh.” Then, Castiel’s voice perks a little. “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah, I’m uh- could we…” Dean lets out a breath. “I miss you.”

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is a bit deeper. “Go home, and call me when you get there.”

Dean frowns, blinking a few times to try and process Castiel’s words. His voice is a little flat when he replies, “Still can’t see you?”

“Not yet,” Castiel’s voice sounds like he’s trying to apologize without directly saying it. Castiel has made it clear that he won’t apologize for working, and Dean had made it equally clear that he shouldn’t have to. “I’m on the final stretch and Dean, you are… entirely distracting.”

Dean snorts at Castiel’s suggestive tone, but he feels a bit lighter. “Yeah, I know.” He scrubs his mouth, feeling the stubble that is slowly starting to thicken into a beard. “Still want me to call you when I get home?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I will be able to take a break so we can talk, by then.”

“Alright,” Dean says, unable to keep himself from smiling. Even when trying to get rid of Dean, Castiel is still attentive. “Call you in a bit.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

When Dean gets home Sam is off somewhere, grocery store perhaps, and Dean jogs up the stairs to shut himself in the master bedroom. He undresses and moves into the en suite, eyeing the bathtub with a longing he hasn’t felt in quite a while. When he renovated this house after purchase he hadn’t put much thought into the bathroom; it’s not hotel quality, but he’s got a stand up shower _and_ a bathtub, which is way more than he ever had anywhere else. The tiles are knock-off marble but pass for convincing, the color scheme white and charcoal grey. Pressing his knees against the edge of the large tub thoughtfully, Dean decides: fuck it. He deserves this.

The sound of running water fills the bathroom and Dean shoots a text off to Sam (mostly to make sure he’s not interrupted but also to let Sam know he’s alive, should Sam come home and Dean not be there to greet him), before he strips. There’s a linen closet by the sink vanity and Dean opens up the very top cupboard, pulling down a few items. A canister of bath salts, a basket of bath bombs, and various skincare items. Setting them on the counter he picks up a few to give them a considering sniff, before deciding on a bergamot bath bomb and avocado epsom salt. Dumping both into the tub Dean moves back to the sink to wash his face properly with the expensive face wash he’ll never admit to buying, and then shaves his growing beard. He examines his reflection in the mirror and then grumbles, picking up another skincare item out of the basket. Smearing on a goopy blue substance, Dean rinses his hands and then puts everything back where it belongs in the cupboard, knowing that the steam from the bath water is probably too hot for his face mask to dry completely, but not quite caring all the same. It’s the principle of the matter. Dean doesn’t pamper himself like this too often, and he’s going to pull out all the stops. 

He puts his phone on the ledge by where his head will be, making sure a towel is in reach as he climbs into the tub and sinks down with an appreciative hiss. The hot water immediately turns his skin pink and he loves it, swishing around some of the bubbles so he won’t cause an avalanche over the side of the tub when he leans back against it. He realizes he’s already too relaxed to reach over the side of the tub and grab the towel to dry his hands, so he glances to make sure his phone screen is unlocked, before gruffing out: “Ok, Google. Call Castiel.”

“Calling Castiel,” Google’s voice replies, and then the sound of Castiel’s phone ringing fills the echoey room.

“Dean,” Castiel greets, then pauses. “Am I on speaker?”

“Yeah,” Dean rests his head back against the little pillow suction-cupped to the back of the tub, smiling serenely. “‘M in the bathtub.”

“Good,” Castiel says. Dean is a little surprised he’s not teasing him about it. “You deserve the relaxation. Do you have bubbles?”

Dean feels himself smiling, the parts of the mask that are drying cracking minutely with the movement. “The works, man. Bubbles, salts. Even got one of those face mask thingies on.”

Castiel chuckles, but the sound is more fond than patronizing, and Dean finds himself wondering for the millionth time how he got so lucky to have a boyfriend like Castiel. “I always wondered how your skin was so clear, given your profession.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a delicate flower,” Dean finds himself chuckling. He wades his hands through the hot water idly and then uses his foot to turn off the tap, sinking down into the water a bit more. “How’s the town?”

“Almost done,” Castiel replies. “I’m doing a little fine-tuning but this will be the last week I work on it.”

“Nice,” Dean closes his eyes. “Do you have test groups ready?”

“The employees are always my test group,” Castiel’s voice is a little proud. “They are a very bright bunch.”

“They’d have to be, to keep up with you and your rooms.”

“You would be surprised. Sometimes I feel as though I’m the one keeping up with them. One of my employees, Kevin, actually had a hand with the town. His puzzles are intricate and… very mind boggling. He’s quite talented.” Castiel speaks of this Kevin like a proud dad, and when Dean mentions it, Castiel just chuckles. “He makes me feel like a proud father. It’s an intense feeling. Kevin is an amazing kid.”

Dean nods a little, remembering Castiel wistfully saying he’d like kids one day against the backdrop of a sparkling lake and emerald tree line. “Glad you got someone like that. I work with a bunch of macho ruffians.” He pauses. “...Except Garth. Kid’s got sunshine and rainbows coming out of his ass.”

“Sounds like you need him around the garage,” Castiel says, rather observantly at that.

Dean bends his knees a little, cupping the caps idly and letting his thumbs stroke over the smooth inner skin. “Yeah. Kinda hard to be too pissed off around him.” A comfortable silence falls, and when Dean hears no activity on Castiel’s side of the line, he actually glances at the phone. “You’re not working?”

“Ah, no.” Castiel’s voice changes slightly. “We won’t be able to see each other until Sunday.”

Dean’s brow furrows slightly, his lips pursing into a pout. “Ah.”

“Which is why I wanted to give you my full attention right now,” Castiel’s voice changes again, this time in pitch. Lowly, he says, “You’re already naked, so half of the work is already done.”

Dean feels his breath hitch in his chest, heat filling his pores for an entirely different reason now. “Oh? What kind of attention you tryna give me, Cas?”

“The kind that will have you moaning my name.”

The switch in atmosphere has Dean feeling lightheaded, the steam from the bath adding to the sensation of being swept away by Castiel’s words. Dean glances down to find his cock already half-hard and lets out a huff of a laugh, tilting his head back against the pillow again as he spreads his legs, palms sliding up his thighs. “And how are you going to make me do that?”

“You’re going to do exactly as I say.” Castiel says it like there’s no room for argument - and Dean, smart boy he is, knows that there’s no possible argument to be made, anyway. “Right, Dean?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, the blunt of his nails pressing lightly into his pink skin to leave crescent marks behind. “Tell me… what to do, Cas.”

“Pinch your nipples,” comes the command, Castiel’s voice low but not sounding nearly as affected as Dean’s. “Between your thumb and forefinger. I know you like them to be played with… Do you like it soft, or rough?”

Dean’s fingers are following Castiel’s direction, giving attention to both nipples. He lets out a small hum of pleasure as he rolls the hardening buds between his fingers, giving a sharp tug in reply to Castiel’s question. “Rough,” he pants. “I like teeth.”

“Good,” Castiel murmurs, “because I’ve been wanting to mark you up since the moment I saw you.” Dean whuffs out a breathy moan, rolling and pinching his nipples, tugging slightly on them. “With my teeth, my hands… What do you fantasize about, Dean?”

“The Warden,” Dean’s mouth answers without his own permission. He feels shame flush his cheeks all the way down to his chest, and he slides a hand down his stomach. “Fuck, Cas. The first time you handcuffed me…” The way Castiel tied him up so securely on his bed.

“Cuffing a beautiful man like you was… exhilarating,” Castiel continues. “Seeing the metal against your pretty wrists. Knowing that you liked it.”

“The baton…” Dean breathes out, dodging his cock with his palm to instead skate his hand up his thigh.

“The baton?” Castiel repeats with interest. “Would you like me to use that on you, Dean?”

Dean finds himself nodding and then, remembering Castiel can’t see him, makes a positive noise in the back of his throat. 

“Touch your cock, Dean,” Castiel commands, the words more cleansing than the bath Dean’s currently soaking in. “Just a little.”

Wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock Dean gives it a loose jerk, the hot water surrounding it dulling some of the sensation. It still feels good, though, with Castiel’s voice in his head whispering praises, singing through his veins. He doesn’t give in to the full jerking that he wants, listening to Castiel’s demands with everything he’s got. He knows Castiel will take care of him, and he’s ready and willing to play along to see what Castiel has in store.

“Tell me, Dean,” Castiel purrs, “would you like me to fuck you?”

The hiccup that leaves Dean’s throat is everything he doesn’t want Castiel to hear, but on the other side of the line he hears the soft, pleased rumble of Castiel’s groan. He tightens his fingers near the head of his cock, thumb pressing to the slit ever so gently. “Yeah… Yeah, Cas.”

“Say it,” Castiel says, voice a little more firm, but not too commanding. “Say you want my cock in you.”

“I want-” Dean’s words get cut off, shame burning through him. His few experiences in the past with men were sorry excuses of masculine pride, two men coming together for a quickie and not giving in to the temptation, of _more_. He wants to give himself over to Castiel, wholly and fully, and he knows that Castiel will have him one way or another. “Fuck, Cas, I want you to fuck me.”

“Finger yourself,” Castiel says. His voice has become a bit breathy, and Dean wonders what the man’s hands are doing on the other side of the line. “Work yourself open for me.” A pause. “Color.”

“Green, fuck-” Castiel’s concern for Dean even in this situation broils deep in Dean’s belly alongside his arousal. How is it that the man’s need to take care of Dean’s comfort, Dean’s mentality, can get Dean just as worked up as something physical? Dean’s left hand grips his cock loosely, his body shifting down a bit in the tub so he can reach his right hand around to his hole. He hasn’t done this in… years. When he masturbates he never really thinks about it, either, so when his forefinger presses gently to his hole Dean finds himself gasping in surprise at the surge of pleasure that runs through his veins. No one else has ever touched him this way, either, and the sensation stops up his voice a little.

“Tell me how it feels,” Castiel says “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Dean nods, and then licks his lips. “Long… long time…” He continues pressing the pad of his finger gently to his hole, teasing, his other hand stroking his cock slowly. He rotates his wrist slightly for comfort and then starts pushing his finger into himself, a slight tremor running through him. “Too long…”

“Mmm,” Castiel hums. “Are you tight?”

“As a virgin,” Dean tries to joke, but he comes out a little garbled and a little breathy because he just _admitted_ such a thing to his boyfriend, Jesus. Castiel’s breath hitches on the other line. Dean’s finger works up to the last knuckle and he wiggles it around, pressing, prodding, feeling every inch of velvety heat that has gone too long without being touched. He withdraws his finger and then presses a second one in, slowly, gently. “Ah… t-two…”

“Stop.” Castiel suddenly says, and Dean freezes, fingers fucked inside of him and cock in hand. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to be the one to work your virginal ass open.”

Dean huffs out an aroused laugh, “Wanna deflower me, baby?”

“Yes,” Castiel _growls_.

Dean withdraws his fingers and whimpers at the loss, even though he hadn’t gotten very far with them. “Cas, c’mon…” 

“You can wait until I give it to you,” Castiel says, voice clipped. “I still want you to cum. How do you make yourself cum, Dean?”

Dean closes his eyes tight and tries to forget the feeling of being stretched open, but his mind switches his fingers for Castiel’s, and he opens his mouth without thinking, “You. You make me cum.”

A brief silence, and then: “What do you think about?”

“Right now- right now I’m thinking about you finger fucking me,” Dean breathes. Honesty is the best policy, here. He knows Castiel isn’t being totally innocent on the other end of the line, and Dean’s determined to flip the game and get the man as worked up as he is. Especially if Dean isn’t allowed to fuck himself. “God Cas, your hands… they’re so pretty. So strong.”

Castiel lets out an audible breath. “You think about them fucking you?”

“And more,” Dean insists, squeezing his cock as he starts to jerk it, enjoying the buzz of pleasure returning to his veins. “Tying me up. Jerking me. Sp… spanking me. Hitting me.” Dean swallows, hoping his fantasies aren’t too much. Too soon. He’s never uttered them to anyone before now.

But Castiel just lets out a pleased hum. “There is much you want me to do to you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Dean almost whines. “I want you to wreck me, Cas. Fucking break me.” His hand has no real finesse over his cock, the slip and slide of the water still dulling some of the more intense sensations. His back arches a little, some water displaces over the edge of the tub, but he can’t be bothered to care.

“Wreck you, break you,” Castiel echoes, and his voice almost sounds a little distant. A little touched out. “I will _own_ you, Dean.”

That’s it. Dean lets out a muffled cry and fucks up into his hand, feeling orgasm work its way from the base of his spine to the tip of his dick, his cum spilling in slow motion tendrils in the water. He strokes himself through it and then drops his head back against the pillow, catching his breath, blinking blearily up at the ceiling as he comes down. A few moments pass and then Castiel’s voice comes back, in control once again, no evidence of their phone sex in his timbre.

“How do you feel?”

Dean manages to snort, sitting up a little. “I’d feel better if you woulda let me fuck myself.”

He can hear Castiel’s smile, “I apologize for being greedy, but… I would like the pleasure.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulls the plug in the tub. He’s not gonna wash his face in water that has his jizz floating around in it. “You’re an ass.”

Castiel makes a non-committal noise. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grabs his towel and stands up, starting to dry himself off. He glances at the phone curiously, “Thanks for what?”

“For being you. And,” Castiel’s voice softens slightly, “for being mine. I understand these past few weeks have been difficult for both of us.”

Dean shrugs even though Castiel can’t see it, picking up the phone and bringing it over to the vanity with him. “We’re adults. We get busy.”

“After the town is done, I don’t have any projects lined up for a while,” Castiel says slowly, like even he is unsure of his words.

Dean blinks. “You don’t?” He frowns. “Is that… gonna be ok?” He remembers Castiel basically saying that he needs to stay busy to stay sane, and Dean wonders what it will be like when the man takes a break. Will he be ansty? Jumpy? Jonesing for the next big project?

“It should be,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a break, but I… want to.”

“You deserve a break,” Dean agrees. “And if it’s what you want, then it’s what you should do.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean chuckles, “Quit thanking me. ‘M just being honest.”

“And I appreciate that more than you know.” There’s a clank on the other end of the line, and then Castiel says, “I need to get back to work. I appreciate your time today.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel can be so formal, so stiff - but over the past few weeks Dean has learned he gets that way when he’s nervous, or unsure of himself - two things Castiel seems to experience very little of. It’s actually a pretty cute trait. “You’re welcome, Cas. See ya later.”

They hang up and Dean bends to finally wash the blue face mask off of his skin, rinsing thoroughly and then returning to the same coveted cabinet for his moisturizer. Once he’s all good to go he dresses in his lounge clothes, very intent on vegging out on the couch for the rest of the day, feeling sated from his Castiel-induced orgasm, as well as the knowledge that soon Castiel won’t be too busy with work to hang out. 

Those good feelings carry him to the living room where he plops on the couch and, eventually, the weeks of non-stop work catch up with him and Dean falls into easy slumber, cerulean eyes and tan fingers carrying him away.

\--

The auto show comes and goes on the following Saturday without a hitch. Dean, Garth and Benny had done their best work yet on the provided cars, and they had gone out to the bar to celebrate their little victory. Even Crowley had been pleased and wrote an extra five on Dean’s check - and because Dean can recognize good work even when he does it, he doesn’t argue that he deserves it, and definitely doesn’t think of it as dirty money anymore. Benny had even suggested that Dean up his prices for his next restoration (“You’re worth it, brother. You’re a magician.”), but Dean had made a silent promise to himself to take a bit of his own break. Benny and Garth have proven on many occasions lately that they can handle the comings and goings of the garage (and Dean really hates Crowley for being so insufferable, but the whole time Dean was working on the Thunderbird, Benny and Garth had stepped up to man the rest of the shop) and when Dean had mentioned taking some time off, they fully supported him.

On Sunday Dean decides to have another barbecue at his place, and it sort of turns into an affair when he extends the invitation to Benny and Garth, who say they’ll bring their significant others, and Charlie and Gilda invite some of their friends as well. The side gate is now just open into the back yard so people don’t go tromping through the house to get to the action; it’s about six o’clock and Dean is firing up the grill, greeting friends and happily introducing himself to strangers.

Benny and Andrea show up with a craft beer native to Louisiana, Benny almost shyly admitting that he orders it in bulk online so he can have a ‘taste of home’ on stressful days. The sentiment is there, and Dean appreciates it. Garth and Bess bring Bess’s homemade potato salad; Charlie and Gilda bring more hard liquor; and their friends Jo and Ash gift Dean with a homemade spice rub from the roadhouse they work at. Dean takes it all in stride, shaking hands, giving hugs, watching his back yard fill up with more bodies than it has in quite a while. He’d texted Castiel earlier that morning, a quick “hey i know we were gonna get together today but sammy’s leaving next week and i wanna have a little going away party”, to which Castiel had humbly replied “Of course, Dean.” - but Castiel isn’t here yet, and he hasn’t texted anything since, and Dean kinda feels a little mopey about it.

Dean’s glad for the large outside dining table, and glad for the chairs around the fire pit. He has the idle thought of buying another table so no one has to eat off of their laps while he stands next to the grill and waits for the wood chips to smoke, but his thought gets a little derailed when a hand slides up the back of his tank top. Long fingers trace goosebumps across Dean’s skin and he stays still as Castiel’s chest presses up against his back, the man pressing a small kiss just behind his ear.

“You look thoughtful,” Castiel greets, his fingers spindling around Dean’s rib cage.

Dean turns slightly to send Castiel a little grin, “Thinkin’ about buying more furniture for out here.”

Castiel’s eyes take in how many people are present and he nods, “A wise thought.”

Dean can’t help but smile, leaning in to press a small kiss to Castiel’s lips. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets belatedly, his hand sliding down to squeeze Dean’s hip lightly. “Burgers and chicken?”

“Yeah,” Dean glances down to Castiel’s spare hand, “whaddya got?”

“Steak. For kebabs,” Castiel replies, holding up the bag.

“Fuck yeah,” Dean enthuses, kissing Castiel’s cheek with a huge grin. “The burgers are resting on the counter. D’you need help making them?”

“No, I believe I’ll be fine.” Another squeeze to Dean’s hip and Castiel’s eyes flicker to his lips before he pulls away, dipping past people without introductions to head inside and get started. Dean figures Castiel, despite his theatrical background, is still as introverted as he seemed early on in their friendship, so Dean lets it slide. Castiel will introduce himself when ready.

“What did Cas bring?” Sam asks as he sidles up to the grill.

“Stuff for kebabs,” Dean replies. He picks up the tongs and snaps them a few times in his brother’s direction, “Make yourself useful and gimme a beer.”

Sam snorts a laugh but leaves Dean to head to the cooler, digging around for a beer and bringing it back. Dean pops off the cap with his ring and takes a drink, ignoring the way Sam is looking at him as best as he can.

“So,” Sam says, when the bottle has finally left Dean’s lips. “You were awfully affectionate with Cas.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean resists crinkling his nose. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“You’ve never been into PDA,” Sam says, with a bit of meaning. 

“I’ve never really been into anyone like him,” Dean bristles.

Sam grins wide, like that’s what he was fishing for. “I’m happy for you, Dean.”

“Shaddup,” Dean grouses, trying to step on one of Sam’s bare feet. “Get outta here.”

When the chips start smoking Dean moves away from the grill to head inside, intent on getting the plates of meat to bring out for grilling. Castiel is standing at the island, carefully spearing vegetables and steak onto skewers, and when he glances up his smile is a little subdued, but still warm.

“How’s it goin’ in here?” Dean asks, rounding the island to pass by Castiel so he can drop a kiss to his shoulder. Castiel is wearing a dark blue tank top and denim shorts that stop just above the knee, and Dean has seen him in less, but his attraction runs deep. Castiel could wear a trash bag and still make Dean shift uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Very well,” Castiel says. “When you return outside could you get a head count as to how many would like a kebab? I don’t want to over-prepare, but I also want to make sure everyone has a chance to get one.”

Dean nods, balancing a plate of burger patties on his forearm, then places a plate in his hand, finishing it all off by grabbing a plate of chicken in his free hand. “Sure bud. Gimme a sec.” With the skills of a waiter job Dean briefly had after high school he makes his way back out towards the grill, setting the plates on the counter and then lifting his fingers to his lips for a whistle. Conversation dies and everyone looks over at him expectantly, “Cas’s making kebabs. Raise your hand if you want one.”

About half of everyone raises their hand and Dean counts, grinning and ducking back inside to relay the number to Castiel. Castiel smiles his thanks and works on cutting up more vegetables; Dean returns to the grill and wonders if Castiel is upset with him for having this barbecue on the day they were supposed to get together. It’s been almost a month since they’ve seen each other face to face - was it a dick move to do this? As he carefully lays the patties on the grill he listens to the laughter of his friends and family and decides that, no, it wasn’t the wrong thing to do. Dean is naturally a social person, and he understands Castiel’s introvertness to a degree, and they’re going to have to come up with a compromise between the two. They’ll have a conversation later, Dean decides. For now, he’s just going to go with the flow and take things as they come.

By the time he’s flipping the first batch of burgers Castiel comes out with two plates stacked high with skewers, and the company applauds. Castiel manages bravado as he gives a shallow bow before walking over towards the grill, exchanging the empty plates for the filled ones, leaning in to kiss Dean on the cheek. 

“You ok?” Dean asks, wanting to check in. Castiel always makes sure Dean is taken care of, and Dean wants to return the favor - especially in a situation where Castiel might not actually be feeling super comfortable.

“Your family is… a lot,” Castiel admits, stacking the empty plates in one hand. “But they’re very kind.”

“It’s not too much?” Dean wheedles, turning to look Castiel in the eyes, searching those deep blues for any hint of a lie. 

“It’s not,” Castiel replies, honesty in his expression. “In fact, I am going to go _mingle_.” He says it with a teasing smile, but Dean can tell by his body language that Castiel is thankful for Dean checking in on him. It lets Dean know that he had read Castiel’s social anxiety correctly, but also assures Dean that he’s doing his best and might even tap out if it gets to be too much.

Dean leans in for another kiss, this one a little lingering, before he reaches down to pat Castiel’s butt playfully. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Castiel snorts and rolls his eyes, leaving to go put the dirty plates in the kitchen. When he comes back out he heads towards the table where there’s a seat open next to Benny, sitting down with only a little bit of shyness. Dean can hear introductions be passed around the table as he flips the chicken, smiling to himself. Lots of questions get asked and Castiel answers them like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and Dean feels himself relaxing a little. Sam brings out all of the sides - various salads, potatoes, and chips - with the help of Charlie and Gilda and then Dean calls people to line up for their food, giving the kebabs one more turn before deeming them done. The assembly line of condiments and paper plates on the thick banister of the deck leading up to the grill is impressive and everything Dean loves about backyard barbecues, and he winks at pretty much everyone who comes up salivating over the smell and look of the meats on the grill. He’s last to serve himself after he ensures everyone is plated and then he sits down between Castiel and Sam, picking up his fresh beer and holding it up, clearing his throat obnoxiously.

“Just wanna throw a toast to my brainy little brother, Sammy,” Dean says, grinning huge. Sam rolls his eyes. “His last year to get his doctorate and I know he’s gonna knock it out of the park.” He turns towards Sam with a slightly more fond smile. “Here’s to you, Sam. You make me proud.”

Sam laughs in embarrassment and shoves Dean as everyone yells “hear, hear!” and takes a drink. Dean’s free hand moves to rest down on Castiel’s thigh as he starts in on his kebab, groaning at the way the steak melts, buttery and tender on his tongue.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says with approval.

Castiel chuckles, “I merely assembled them, Dean. You did the actual work.”

“We did it together,” Dean says, tossing Castiel a playful wink. 

“Gross,” Sam comments. 

The rest of the table laughs and then dissolves into conversation punctuated by pleased groans and praises to Dean’s cooking, which Dean deflects by complimenting the rub that Jo and Ash brought. Conversation is loud and rowdy and Castiel stays mostly quiet, eating his grilled chicken without a bun and with a healthy heaping of grilled veggies on the side, looking as though he’s just trying to absorb everything going on. Dean keeps his hand on Castiel’s thigh, and sometimes when things get especially loud and raucous Castiel touches his own palm to it, but for the most part Castiel seems to be doing fine. When the food is all gone everyone helps with clean up, making the process go a million times faster than when it’s just a few people doing it - but Dean knows the ulterior motive is to get everyone around the fire pit sooner, which is where Sam is currently stoking the beginnings of a fire. 

Charlie announces that they brought s’more fixings and everyone cheers, dragging chairs towards the fire pit. Sam hooks up his iPod to his bluetooth speaker and everyone starts getting settled in, and when Dean complains about Sam’s stupid indie-hippy music he’s appalled that Castiel actually _defends_ it. Castiel merely smiles placatingly from his spot next to Dean on the spread blanket, blades of grass tickling their toes, and when the stars come out Dean thinks that today is… perfect. 

It’s not until well after midnight that people start trickling off to go home. There’s not much left to clean up but Dean, Sam and Castiel make quick work of it anyway, not wanting to leave anything to the bugs or the cold morning dew. Once they’re done Sam bids Castiel goodnight and heads inside, leaving Castiel and Dean on the deck.

“Hey,” Dean says, now that they’re finally alone. He reaches for Castiel’s hand, threading their fingers together. “You ok?”

Castiel looks like he’s about to roll his eyes, but he lifts his hand up to cradle Dean’s jaw in his palm ever so gently. “I am. Large crowds are generally stressful to me, but being in the company of people you know and care for alleviated a lot of my worries.”

“Still, I shoulda thought…” Dean trails off, frowning. 

“Thought that our first time seeing each other in almost a month should have been one-on-one?” Castiel guesses, smile still affectionate.

“Well,” Dean glances off to the side, feeling a blush high on his cheeks. “Yeah.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s tone makes Dean look back into his gaze without second thought. “I was under the impression that being introduced more of your friends is a big deal. Something special.”

“It is,” Dean is still grumbling petulantly. “I uh- I mean… the last person they knew was Lisa and that was…” he blows out a breath as he tries to recall. “Four years ago? I haven’t brought anyone else around since.”

“So,” Castiel’s hand drops to Dean’s shoulder, his other hand coming up to Dean’s waist, pulling him closer. “Tonight was special. Because you think that _I’m_ special enough to be introduced to the people in your life.”

Dean finds himself grinning. “Yeah.”

“I had no problem putting my personal doubts on the back burner in order to give you this,” Castiel murmurs, stepping into Dean’s space, his burnt marshmallow breath floating over Dean’s lips. “I would do anything to make you happy.”

Dean relaxes infinitely, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist so their hips bump together. “You’re too good for me, Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head, eyes glimmering. “On the contrary, Dean Winchester. You are too good for me.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to the shell of Dean’s ear, before his teeth tug gently on the lobe. “My good boy.”

A full-body shiver wracks through Dean’s frame and holy crap, the fact that Castiel can flip that switch so easily always leaves him with whiplash. His fingers tighten in the back of Castiel’s tank top, wrinkling the soft cotton, his body pressing a bit insistently against Castiel’s. “Damn it, Cas…”

Castiel pulls away ever so slightly, giving just enough space that he can look into Dean’s eyes. “Wednesday will be the last day I’ll be in town. Can I expect you to be at my place for dinner?”

The subject change muddles Dean’s brain a bit and he blinks a few times before nodding. “Uh- Wednesday. Dinner. Yeah.”

Castiel rewards him with a kiss, leaning in for a gentle press of lips. It’s not hungry or chasing - it’s a promise, and when Castiel pulls away his smile is fond, sharp at the edges. “I overheard Benny mention you taking some vacation time. Could you start it on Thursday?”

“Why, so I can be your kept boy all weekend?” Dean jokes, even as fire starts to burn low in his belly at the thought of Castiel requesting the rest of the week with him. 

“Something like that,” Castiel says, brushing his fingers gently through Dean’s hair, knuckles tracing down his temples. “I’ll have you home in time to take Sam to the airport on Saturday.”

Dean nods, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, Cas, let’s do that.”

“Good,” Castiel says with a small grin, and then leans forward to nip at Dean’s ear again. “Good. _Boy_.”

Dean whimpers when Castiel leaves his orbit with a deadly wink and a dark smile, stepping down off of the deck to go through the side gate. Dean stands, a little dazed, and only gets jolted back into movement when Castiel’s truck starts and rumbles away. Heading inside after doing a visual sweep of the yard, Dean shuts the sliding door behind him and latches it, chuckling to himself and wiping a hand down his face. 

He’s falling, and there’s no way to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think dean winchester has never done a face mask in his life you are denying something very, very beautiful  
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


	8. Frills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare for feels and discoveries.  
> this chapter is the beginning of their 'staycation' and is designed to set the mood for the rest of the story.  
> endless, endless thanks to The PandaSquid for helping keep me on track. you're an angel.

It’s Tuesday when Charlie and Gilda come over to start discussing wedding plans. They don’t plan on getting hitched until next summer, but as they spread out all of their research on Dean’s coffee table, he realizes just how… _much_ goes into planning a wedding. Floral arrangements, color schemes, venues, food and drink, guest list, just to name a few. Sam is much more useful than Dean, who really just offers to refill wine glasses at this point, a little stumped about everything. He’s not terribly creative, and having something like a ‘vision’ for an event is beyond him (backyard barbecues excluded), because Dean has honestly never thought about getting married before. Not even with Lisa. She had brought it up, but he had always deflected like the professional asshole he is - and he knows that part of the reason they ended on such a bitter note was because he never put a ring on her finger.

It was definitely for the best.

“Dean,” Charlie holds her empty wine glass over her head and wiggles it invitingly, drawing Dean from where he’d been puttering around in the kitchen boiling noodles for the spaghetti he’s going to eventually make. 

He grabs the open wine bottle off of the island and dutifully approaches the back of the couch to steady Charlie’s wrist as he fills her glass, smiling down at her. “How goes it, Red?”

Charlie rolls her eyes and exhales hard, her lips flapping. “I think Sam and Gilda are just gonna get married. It would make everything so much easier. I’ll just show up and sign the marriage license.”

Dean laughs, Sam and Gilda both sending Charlie appropriate Bitch Faces before returning to flipping through photos on Gilda’s tablet. “But you’ll look so good in a suit.”

Charlie grins upside down at Dean. “Fuck yeah I will.” She adjusts while holding her wine glass out and stable so she can kneel on the couch, folding her arms over the back as she peers up at Dean. “You’ll be inviting Castiel as your date, right?”

Dean lofts a brow. “You’re getting married in like, a year, aren’t you?”

Grinning, Charlie brings her wine glass to her lips to speak against the rim. “You’re gonna still be dating him in like, a year, aren’t you?”

Dean wrings his hands around the half-empty wine bottle he’s holding. “Man, I hope.”

Charlie nods. “Trust me. You guys are perfect for each other. I’ll be surprised if you guys aren’t planning your own wedding at that time!”

“I dated Lisa for five years and never got anywhere near planning a wedding, Charles,” Dean reminds her as he turns around to head back into the kitchen.

Eager to get away from the bridezillas taking up the loveseat Charlie clambers off of the couch and trails Dean into the kitchen, taking up a stool at the island. “That’s because Lisa was a bitch.”

Dean snorts, turning off the burner and grabbing pot holders so he can pick up the pot of boiling noodles, carrying it to the sink. “Now you tell me.”

Charlie raises her hands innocently. “Hey- if the pussy’s good I’m not gonna intrude.”

Laughing outright, Dean shakes his head as he dumps the noodles into the colander, shaking the stubborn noodles out of the pot before setting it on a cool burner. “I think you may have thought too much about that aspect of our relationship.”

“Wasn’t it good?” Charlie asks, curious. “I mean- you were with her for so long even though she sucked.”

Dean shrugs as he picks up the colander and shakes the excess water out of it, returning the noodles back to the hot, empty pot. Sex with Lisa had never been as mind blowing as it is with Castiel. _Being in the same room_ as Lisa didn’t affect him like Castiel does. “I think I was just so used to being with her, it was easier to stay than to leave.”

“But that’s not how it is with Castiel, right?” Charlie says surely. “You guys haven’t even had,” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “penetrative sex, yet.”

Feeling his ears heat up Dean moves to the fridge, grabbing the tub of butter and pointing his wooden spoon at Charlie as he returns to the pot. “Sex is sex, Charles. Orgasm achieved. You of all people should know that you don’t need to have full on intercourse to have sex.”

“We can hear you!” Gilda and Sam’s voices ring from the loveseat. Damn these open concept homes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, we still haven’t done a lot. We’re taking it slow and I’m… really enjoying it,” he admits, stirring the butter into the noodles. He puts a clean pan on the still-hot burner, caught up in the mundane task of cooking a recipe he’s had memorized for twenty years. Which is good he could do this in his sleep, because he’s feeling a little distracted.

“That’s really cool, though,” Charlie insists. “Like- Dean. The way he looks at you. It’s like you hand-stitched the Milky Way.”

“Maybe I did,” Dean says with a grin and a wink. He works on preparing the sauce, stirring it idly as it starts to heat up. 

He can hear Charlie’s eye roll in her voice, “ _Dude_ , I mean it. He’s super amazing and you’ve never been so happy.”

Dean nods, flapping his hand around, “Ok, ok, I don’t need you and Sammy getting all sappy on me just ‘cause I’ve got a smart, sensible, handsome, thoughtful boyfriend.” He grins as he seasons the sauce. “Can we talk about _your_ relationship now? You’re not already getting cold feet, are you?”

“No,” Charlie says quickly, and when Dean glances over he sees her fiddling with her wine glass. “I’m just not good at all this planning and stuff. Thank God my future wife is, right?” She laughs awkwardly, draining her glass. 

Dean puts a lid over the pan and turns the dial down to simmer, grabbing a beer from the fridge and then taking a seat on the stool next to Charlie. He gently bumps his shoulder against hers, “I’m happy for _you_ , Charlie. You and Gilda are actually pretty… relationship goals, y’know?” He pops the cap of his beer with his ring and takes a long drink, thoughtful.

Charlie rests her head on Dean’s shoulder. “We are, huh?” She knocks her empty wine glass gently against the neck of Dean’s bottle, the little _tink_ barely audible. “Good on us, Dean-o. Finding the loves of our lives before we hit forty.”

Dean smiles wryly, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of Charlie’s head. “Go wrastle up those nerds for dinner. And tell Gilda puke green should definitely be a color.”

Charlie leans up and kisses Dean’s cheek before hopping off the stool, leaving her empty glass behind as she trots off to the living room. Dean stands and picks up the wine glass, taking it to the sink for a rinse, still smiling to himself. 

Love, huh?

… Yeah.

Love.

\--

Texting Castiel is always the highlight of Dean’s day, but Castiel doesn’t actually reply much, still too busy dealing with the town. Waiting for Castiel to give him the go ahead to come over on Wednesday is making Dean all sorts of antsy; Benny actually sends him home early and Dean then spends his time being antsy at home, packing his duffel and making sure he has everything he needs in order to stay at Castiel’s for the rest of the week comfortably. Plenty of underwear, regular clothes along with lounge clothes, _skincare_ because Castiel had actually complimented him on it and now Dean doesn’t feel an ounce of shame for it.

It’s nearing five when his phone buzzes and he whips it out of the pocket of his joggers, thumbing open the text from Castiel.

**Come over.**

All of Dean’s nerves disappear. Some irrational, stupid part of him had been worried that Castiel was going to cancel - that same insecure part of him that stayed with Lisa for way longer than he should have - and he kind of hates himself for it. He tosses his phone charger into his duffel and then makes his way down the stairs, calling out to Sam who’s been lounging out on the back deck all day in the late summer sun.

“Be back Saturday!”

“Use protection!” Sam calls back.

Dean snorts as he exits his front door, practically hopping down the steps of his porch. He rounds the hood of his car and swings open Baby’s door with a satisfying _crrrrrk_ and tosses his duffel into the passenger seat, revving the engine and backing out of the driveway. He and Castiel had only seen each other in small handfuls over the past few months; a few hours here, a few hours there. He’s a bit nervous to think about spending day in and day out with the man but at the same time it feels… exhilarating. Castiel is still such a mystery, even still. 

Making a pit stop by the florist on his way over, Dean decides to pick up some lavender dahlias. He’d overheard Gilda and Sam discussing flowers and their meanings, and ‘commitment and discovery’ stuck in his mind and immediately supplied the image of Castiel lying over his pastel bedspread, looking like the ‘home’ feeling Dean had almost forgotten, and is ready to absorb again. The girl behind the counter looks a little wistful as she explains the meaning that Dean already knows, and he sends her a wink and leaves a tip before he makes his way back out to the car. He feels her eyes on his back as he leaves; he had forgotten how fun it is to be off the market. Unavailable. 

These flowers will look beautiful on Castiel’s nightstand.

He’s at Castiel’s house twenty minutes later thanks to rush hour traffic, duffel slung over one shoulder and the dahlias gripped carefully in his free hand. He knocks on the door and listens for movement inside; some things knock around and then Castiel is opening the door, smiling beatifically. 

“Hey-...” Dean’s hand slows in holding out the flowers, his eyes roving down Castiel’s figure.

Last time Castiel had answered the door in a robe, the time before that with a frilly apron.

This time Castiel is gracing Dean with a woman’s tank top and women’s yoga pants, cropped at the calves with VICTORIA’S SECRET printed down one of the legs. The garments fit and yet they don’t, the slight curve of Castiel’s hips accentuated slightly, the dip of his collarbones standing out under tanned skin, his trim biceps on display. Dean’s mouth goes dry, because the apron and the robe had been one thing, but Castiel is casually cross-dressed and he looks… incredible. Relaxed. Happy.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel finally greets.

“Uh,” Dean re-enters his body and sends Castiel a crooked grin, holding out the flowers. “Hiya, Cas.”

“Dahlias,” Castiel murmurs, taking the flowers carefully from Dean. He steps out of the way so Dean can come inside, lifting the petals to his nose so he can take a deep breath. “Thank you, Dean. They’re beautiful.”

“Thought they’d look good in your bedroom,” Dean says a bit gruffly, suddenly embarrassed. 

Castiel leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek, his free hand taking the man’s duffel from him. “I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

Dean arches his brows in surprise. “Really?”

Castiel sends a serene smile to him, “Really. I’ll put your duffel in the bedroom; dinner is in the oven and should be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Nodding, Dean watches Castiel walk down the hallway towards his bedroom, unable to help the way his eyes drink in the manly sway of Castiel’s hips. He’s barefoot, and Dean is sure that if he weren’t already wearing lounge pants and a long sleeved tee he’d be thinking about getting more comfortable, too. He toes off his sneakers and slides across the wood floor on socked feet, entering the kitchen and making his way to the oven. He flips on the light and bends to peer inside, but the dish has foil over it and he pouts, straightening. It smells delicious, as always. He busies himself by perusing the cupboards to set the table, and by the time he’s done Castiel is back and reaching for an empty vase atop the fridge.

“What’s cookin’?” Dean asks as he takes a seat at the small table.

Castiel fills the vase with water, speaking over the flow, “Roasted chicken and vegetables.”

Dean puts an elbow on the table, resting his cheek in his palm as he smiles adoringly over at Castiel. “We should totally date. You’re perfect.”

Castiel tosses Dean a playful smirk over his shoulder as he grabs a pair of scissors out of the knife block, snipping the stems of the flowers and then carefully putting them in the vase. “Mmm sorry, but I’m taken.”

Puffing his cheeks out, Dean shrugs. “Lucky dude.” Damn, it feels good to hear Castiel claim him like that.

“Lucky, indeed,” Castiel muses as he exits the kitchen to no doubt put the flowers on his nightstand. 

When he returns Dean is leaning back comfortably in the chair, his eyes peering out the sliding glass doors into the backyard. “Where’s your cat?” Now that he thinks of it, he hasn’t really seen much of the cat at all any time he’s come over to visit.

“Outside,” Castiel replies easily. He pulls a large knife from the chopping block, setting it down on the counter as he busies himself with putting pot holders down on his small island. “You said you’re allergic, so he’s out catching mice for me.”

“Is it alright that he’s outside so much?” Dean blinks. He doesn’t know much about cats, but that doesn’t mean he dislikes them. Just gets a little sneezey is all.

“He has a filtered water fountain out there and I feed him morning and night,” Castiel says. He turns off the oven and puts on oven mitts, opening the door and pulling out the dish to set it on the pot holders waiting for him. “He actually prefers being outside. Every time I try to bring him in for cuddles he just gets mad and tears something up.”

Dean thinks he sees a fluffy black tail underneath a wicker rocking chair on the back patio, but the scent of the freshly uncovered roasted chicken has his attention and makes him turn back towards Castiel. “Well, now you’ve got me for cuddles.”

Castiel quirks a smirk as he tosses the tin foil in his garbage can. “I do know how to make you purr.”

Heat creeps up the back of Dean’s neck and he hums in assent, not trusting his voice to make words. Castiel plates the chicken and puts the roasted vegetables in a bowl, bringing both to the table and setting them down with all the theater of a five-star chef. It looks amazing and Dean licks his lips, rubbing his hands together.

“Y’know, Cas. Not that I’m dissing your house or anything, but if this is what you whip up in this kitchen, I can’t imagine what you’d create in mine.”

“I did notice your kitchen,” Castiel says as he finally joins the table with the big knife in hand. He continues standing to start carving up the chicken, expertly breaking the thighs and wings free of the body without making a huge mess. He’s smiling small as he speaks, “Are you inviting me over to your house… to cook?”

“And other things,” Dean says with a small laugh.

“Other things,” Castiel echoes as he pulls the drumsticks from the thighs cleanly. “I have definitely given much thought to your kitchen.”

“I mean, your kitchen is great,” Dean says, looking around the space with appreciation. He really does love how cozy and warm it is. He reaches forward with his fork to grab a thigh and a breast, putting them on his plate with a wide grin. “You make masterpieces like this in it.”

“Your kitchen is best for gatherings,” Castiel amends as he serves himself a wing and a healthy portion of vegetables, finally sitting down. He passes the bowl of vegetables over to Dean, who dishes while he listens. “But your big kitchen island is wonderful.”

Dean grins, nodding and setting the bowl down to pick up his fork and knife. “Had it custom made to fit my kitchen without being too huge. Counter space and storage underneath.”

“It’s the perfect size,” Castiel says conversationally as he uses his fork and knife to cut into his meat, “for me to lie you out on for a good fuck.”

Raising both of his brows, Dean’s fork and knife are paused in mid air as he blinks rapidly, trying to take in Castiel’s words. Very slowly, his utensils lower and he runs his tongue along his teeth, before saying, “Excuse me?”

Castiel smiles placidly as he lifts his loaded fork up to his mouth, staying quiet.

Still frozen in time, Dean watches Castiel take a few bites of food, before glancing down at his own plate. Feeling the war of arousal and disbelief rumbling through his empty stomach he finally just lets out a groan, leaning back against his chair and giving Castiel a grievous look. “C’mon man, at the dinner table?”

“I was intending on letting you complete your meal,” Castiel says, his placid smile tightening at the edges with amusement. “I’m not a monster.”

Managing to look offended, Dean pulls his plate a little closer to him and finally takes a bite of meat, purposely chewing as obnoxiously as possible. He rests his forearm on the table around his plate like he’s shielding it to himself, glaring across the way at the infuriatingly calm man occupying the other chair. “You are.”

Castiel’s smile only widens a little, his eyes darkening slightly. “You don’t really believe that.”

“You’re something,” Dean grumbles as he takes a few more bites of food. He still lets his eyes wander over Castiel as they eat, once again taking in the way the women’s clothing drape over the other man’s firm muscles and sharp angles. A few more bites, a drink of water, and then Dean decides to just do what Winchester’s do best by asking directly what’s on his mind: “Why are you wearing women’s clothing?”

Castiel arches a brow, but he doesn’t look surprised by Dean’s question. Maybe just a little bit caught off guard that he asked it so plainly. Setting down his fork he picks up his glass for a drink before setting it down carefully, pinky cushioning the bottom of the glass to lessen the sound of it connecting with the table, his motions measured and almost painfully thoughtful. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Dean rushes to say. “I’m just uh- a little surprised I guess. Do you… I mean- you have more?”

“I do,” Castiel nods, resting his elbows on the table, clearly giving Dean his full attention rather than his food. “Athleisure wear is my favorite, but I have a few other styles.”

“Like, uh… dresses?” Dean asks, trying not to sound like a pervert, because for some reason the thought of Castiel wearing something frilly and dainty is doing something… interesting to his brain. 

“Dresses,” Castiel confirms. “Among other items. I don’t wear them frequently, but for comfort there’s no one cozier than Victoria’s Secret.” He picks up his fork and knife again, and Dean suddenly feels something niggling in the back of his mind.

Reaching to the back of his neck to ruffle the short hairs there idly, Dean is smiling a little ruefully when he says, “Was this a test?”

Castiel doesn’t reply for a few moments, choosing instead to obliterate his chicken wing with his fork and knife as he picks it apart for the meat. When he finally answers his eyes aren’t on Dean and it settles deep in the mechanic’s gut, the reality of the situation, how closed off Castiel seems. “Yes.”

“Cas,” Dean finds his voice almost pleading. Insecurity is not an emotion Dean knows Castiel to feel often, not outwardly at least, and seeing it plain on the man’s face has Dean panicking a little. “You gotta know, man. We agreed we’re in this for the long haul. If you wanna wear stockings and hair pretties I won’t give a damn. You feel comfortable and happy and that’s what I care about. I mean- I’m not oblivious, y’know? I saw your apron.”

The firmness with which Castiel sets his silverware down on the table on either side of his plate makes Dean sit back a little. “I do not think you are oblivious, Dean Winchester.”

“Uh,” Dean replies smartly.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Castiel says, his voice leaving no room for argument as he levels Dean with his gaze.

Not that Dean could argue, anyway, but he finds himself frowning in mild confusion. “I’m not- I mean. Ok?”

Castiel is still a little rigid, but his gaze drops again. “I know you’re a good man, Dean. I… have yet to expose this part of me to anyone, before.”

That makes Dean take pause. And, because of that beautiful Winchester grace, “Like, ever?” 

Of course, Dean’s not oblivious, but he’s a little _obtuse_ as Sam once said, and that very trait is causing Castiel’s shoulders to relax slightly. “Ever.”

“Not even…” Dean trails off, unable to remember Castiel’s ex-boyfriend’s name. But it’s understood, because Castiel shakes his head in the negative, and Dean sits back in his chair again to wipe his mouth with his napkin and look thoughtfully at the man seated across from him. He’s always viewed Castiel as so… intelligent, mature and stable. Still does. The thoughts he’d had in the beginning about Castiel being out of his league still plague him occasionally, but the way Castiel is approaching this conversation - the way he’s _guarding_ himself - lets Dean know that the man isn’t as infallible as he once seemed. 

It’s humbling.

“I’m glad you can trust me to tell me,” Dean finally says, because while he’s pretty emotionally stunted, he occasionally knows how to reply to things like this. And damn, if he isn’t so far gone on Castiel already.

The tiny, tiny smile that filters over Castiel’s lips is the most rewarding thing Dean has ever been given in his pathetic life.

“I’m glad you’re worth trusting.”

The rest of the dinner passes with easier conversation, Dean finally able to verbally puke about all of the crap he had to do for Crowley with his stupid restoration. Castiel listens with great interest, as he always does, and when they’re done with their food they clean up together; hips bumping, arms brushing, Castiel washing dishes while Dean dries since apparently Castiel doesn’t have a dishwasher. An abomination, really, but Dean doesn’t say that out loud because Castiel seems to like the gentle monotony of washing things by hand. Once the kitchen is cleaned up Dean wanders out to the living room, stretching his arms over his head. 

The comfort of Castiel’s home (and presence) is like a blanket wrapping around him, all of his worries sailing away. Mini vacation. Staycation is what the romantics call it, right? He smiles to himself; his skin jumps slightly when a hand slides underneath the side of his shirt, fingers skimming over the curve of his hip, palm resting over his stomach. Castiel’s warmth presses into Dean’s back and he can’t help but lean back against it, dropping his arms to his side as his smile widens. 

“It’s amazing to see you relax,” Castiel murmurs against the skin of Dean’s neck. 

“Am I not normally relaxed?” Dean asks, a bit of surprise in his voice.

He can feel Castiel shake his head in reply. His other hand joins its counterpart on Dean’s stomach under his loose shirt, and Dean feels a little self-conscious; the weight of Castiel’s palms is shifting the bit of pudge on his belly. But Castiel doesn’t seem to notice as he says, “You fake it a lot.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah… you’re right.”

“Remember what I said about being here?” Castiel continues, his palms sliding up Dean’s sternum. His chest is solid, firm against Dean’s back. Grounding. “To make it your escape. Let go of all your worries.”

A smile curls over Dean’s lips as he relaxes further into Castiel’s hold, more comfortable now that Castiel’s hands aren’t on his stomach. “It’s pretty easy to do that with you.”

“He _can_ say something romantic,” Castiel says, fake shock lacing his voice. They share a chuckle and then Castiel’s hands slide back down Dean’s body; Dean sucks in a breath and Castiel’s palms pause, right over his belly button, his tone changing. “Do you not like me touching your stomach?”

 _Damn him_ for being so damn intuitive. Dean tries to laugh it off, shrugging, “Well- I mean just be careful of the winter coat.”

“Dean,” Castiel dons that voice that means he’s going to say his piece and Dean has no choice in the matter, “what I’m feeling right now is nothing to be ashamed of.” His hands move to Dean’s hips and he uses gentle pressure to turn Dean around, looking in his eyes. Castiel is so beautiful when he’s earnest, baby blues searching Dean’s face for insecurities so he can wipe them away with a kiss, a word, a touch. 

“M’not ashamed,” Dean manages to mumble, even if he’s lying straight through his teeth. 

Castiel’s palms rest on his stomach again, fingers splayed. “Here is happiness. Love.”

Dean feels himself flushing. “You mean here is a dude who goes to the gym once a month to try and justify the membership.”

“No,” Castiel’s voice is firm. His eyes narrow a little, but not in anger - just… scrutiny. Dean feels tiny. “I will not tell you that you are wrong to have these insecurities. We all have something we wish we could change. But I will tell you right here and now: this is how I know you are well taken care of. Loved. Appreciated. You don’t need any false pretenses with me, Dean. If you went to the gym every day or not at all, I should hope you wouldn’t think that I’m so shallow as to hold a physical trait against you. And, in any case,” Castiel’s body is a waterfall as he lowers himself to his knees, his hands still on Dean’s stomach under his shirt, “I love your body.”

“Cas,” Dean’s voice breaks a little, too many emotions flying through him at once. Embarrassment, appreciation, surprise, disbelief. He looks down at the top of Castiel’s head, the man’s hair wild and unkempt as usual. 

Castiel tips his head back as he finally catches his fingers on Dean’s shirt to ruck it up a little, exposing the skin he’s been touching so reverently. “You’re safe with me.”

Things just sort of… hit Dean, all at once. Castiel hasn’t asked for a single damn thing of him. The man has already given Dean so much, and Dean is suddenly overcome with the knowledge that Castiel has been giving himself over selflessly to Dean without worrying about what Dean might be able to give him in return. And really, with Castiel on his knees pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to the flesh of Dean’s belly, Dean realizes that Castiel doesn’t _expect_ anything of him, except for patience, cooperation, and companionship. Things that Dean gives Castiel as easily as his lungs supply oxygen. 

“Hey,” Dean finds himself saying, fingers carding through Castiel’s hair. He needs his attention. Needs his ears. Castiel looks up at Dean, the stubble of his chin scratching lightly against Dean’s skin, and whatever words Dean had thought of saying float out of his mind. 

And oh, Castiel. Dean’s always been an open book but Castiel sees things, hears things that no one else does. So those words that can’t find their way past Dean’s lips have the other man coming back to his feet, his hands moving to the small of Dean’s back to pull him close so he can start kissing along Dean’s jaw, further relaxing the mechanic. Dean just sort of melts into Castiel’s touch, moving his head to rest on Castiel’s bare shoulder, closing his eyes and accepting the affection and touches with everything he can.

“Would you like to watch some television?” Castiel finally asks, pulling away just enough so that he can look into Dean’s eyes as he lifts a hand to card fingers through Dean’s hair.

A lot of things war within Dean. Arousal, affection, self-consciousness, vulnerability. “Yeah.” He decides. Castiel will take care of him in whatever way he sees fit, even if Dean doesn’t exactly know himself how he needs to be taken care of. And if Castiel thinks that right now Dean should relax, zone out, and watch some TV, then that’s what he’ll do. 

Castiel’s hand slides into Dean’s and he leads him down the hallway towards the bedroom, leaving the door open. Dean crawls onto the bed, still a little dazed, settling back against the mountain of pillows and watching Castiel turn on the television on the dresser. Castiel grabs the remote and moves to get on the bed with Dean, propped up against the headboard and wrapping an arm around the other man’s shoulders to tuck him into his side, ankles crossed, pulling up the TV guide. 

“Hey,” Dean tries again from the safety of Castiel’s embrace, the man’s scent infiltrating all of his senses and calming him infinitely. 

“Hm?” Castiel replies as he settles on reruns of The Office, the hand draped over Dean’s shoulder lifting to card his fingers through his hair lightly.

“I…” Dean licks his lips. “I appreciate you, Cas.” He feels kind of dumb, but he also feels like that’s the right thing to say, right now. He can’t recall a time when he’s actually said those exact words, let alone in such an intimate situation, but as soon as they leave his lips, once again he’s sure he’s said the right thing.

Castiel responds by kissing his head. “And I appreciate you, Dean.” His voice drops softly. “Relax.”

Dean does.

\--

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he opens his eyes he’s tucked under the weight and warmth of Castiel’s comforter, blinking up at the ceiling fan and feeling the comfort of Castiel draped over his chest, breaths slow and even with sleep. It’s dark in the room, but when he turns his head to try and peek through the slight gap in the curtains of the window, he sees the soft edges of the sunrise coloring the sky outside. He smiles to himself. He feels really good. He had been a little anxious during their conversations yesterday, but Castiel had guided him through all of those fumbling emotions with grace and acceptance in a way that Dean has never been guided before. 

Still, he feels that need to… reciprocate. In any way he can. Dean’s always known he comes off as emotionally unavailable - and he knows that Castiel is stripping away all of his bravado layer by layer. Dean isn’t great with words. He’s awesome showing physical affection. But how else can he show Castiel that he’s just as willing to take care of the other man? 

Castiel gives a soft snore before rolling away from Dean. Sitting up, pretty awake now, Dean swings his legs out of the comfortable bed and stands. His lounge clothes are rumpled and sleep-warm but he forgoes changing, not wanting to make any extra noise in the bedroom while Castiel is still sleeping. Tip-toeing out of the room he shuts the door behind him and then makes his way out towards the kitchen, the rising sun streaming shy rays through the sliding glass door. 

Without Castiel around, Dean takes the time to navigate the kitchen. Learn which cupboard holds what, take a peek in the fridge to see how Castiel’ organizes it, and familiarize himself with the counter appliances. Castiel has a percolator and Dean grins as he disassembles it, rinsing it in the sink and then filling it up so he can pour coffee grounds into the basket. He plugs it in and then takes a step back, already grinning to himself and feeling pretty pleased, even if coffee is just sort a normal thing that comes along with mornings. The point of the matter is that the coffee is going to be _ready_ when Castiel wakes up. He debates starting to make food as well, but a glance at the oven clock shows 4:47 staring back at him; and, even though they had both fallen asleep well before nine p.m., Dean isn’t about to wake Castiel up this early for anything. He can wait until Castiel is awake to cook. 

Movement at the sliding door catches his attention and he wanders over, seeing Castiel’s cat pacing back and forth expectantly. He must think it’s breakfast time, since someone is up and moving about in the house. Glancing around, Dean wonders where the cat food is kept; he pulls open a few lower cupboards and ends up in the pantry, a clear tote on the floor inside half full with food. Going back to the door he slides it open and the cat meows at him before sitting prettily, long fluffy tail curling around its body as Dean reaches for the bowl tucked off to the side of the door.

“Comin’ up,” Dean says to the cat with a wink. He shuts the door and uses the cup inside the tote to measure out the helping before returning outside, crouching down on the ledge of the door and the step to reach and set down the full bowl. 

The cat immediately goes to the bowl, ignoring Dean in favor of gobbling up the first few bites, and Dean can’t help but reach out and run his hand along the length of the cat’s spine. He arches into the touch, tail quivering happily, and then Dean stands up to return inside, moving to the sink immediately to wash his hands. Can’t be too safe. He dries his hands on the dish towel hanging from the oven door handle, and then decides to explore more. The percolator is bubbling happily on the counter, filling the house with the aroma of hot coffee, and Dean leaves it and the noise behind as he walks back down the hallway. One door leads to the bathroom, and the door opposite the hallway hasn’t been open any of the times Dean has been over. Wouldn’t hurt to peek, right?

Turning the handle, Dean is thankful the hinges are silent as he creeps into the room. In the suffused early morning light he’s taken aback by how… _busy_ it is. There are two tables pushed together in the middle and a desk in the corner, only one chair present. Strewn across every surface available are notes, drawings, pencils and pens; the mess crawls up the walls, one side of the room covered in cork boards dotted with colorful tacks, some strings connecting points together almost haphazardly. It’s a bit shocking. The rest of Castiel’s house is so neat and organized but in here it looks like a bomb went off. Stepping further in, he picks up the closest piece of paper and scans over it - oh. This must be where Castiel brainstorms all of his rooms and puzzles. 

“This is the War Room.” Castiel’s normally gruff voice is rougher with sleep and makes Dean jump in surprise, turning around. Castiel is still in yesterday’s clothes, too, looking probably even more rumpled than Dean, but he doesn’t look mad, his eyes just squinty as he looks past Dean into the room. 

“Good name,” Dean compliments dumbly, putting the piece of paper back on the table. 

Castiel rubs a hand over his face, “Is there coffee?”

Dean feels himself smiling. “Yeah, it should be done now.”

They leave the room, Dean making sure to shut the door behind him as he follows Castiel down the hallway into the kitchen. Castiel clanks around a little, uncoordinated and definitely not a morning person as he sets two mugs down on the counter. He stares at the percolator, maybe trying to remember if blue light equals brewed or if green light equals brewed - but the percolator isn’t making noise anymore, so he seems to make his decision as he picks it up by the handle and pours the hot liquid into both cups. 

Dean moves into Castiel’s space and presses a kiss to the man’s cheek where a crease from his pillow is sewn into his skin, taking the mug of coffee gratefully. Castiel doesn’t smile, but he seems to warm a little as he moves to the fridge to grab creamer. Sitting at the table Dean cradles the mug with his hands, blowing idly at the steam curling from the surface; he takes a drink, but has to put his mug down on the table quickly when Castiel comes over and straddles his lap, heavy, lazy, his mug joining Dean’s on the table as Castiel cups Dean’s face and tilts his head up for a deep, slow kiss.

Mornings with Castiel are quiet and perfect.

They explore each other’s mouths with no hurry, morning breath exchanged and washed away with breaths and licks. Dean’s hands rest on the small of Castiel’s back and Castiel keeps his face in his palms and when the kiss breaks Castiel searches Dean’s eyes, unguarded and warm and breathlessly beautiful. 

“Good morning,” Castiel murmurs.

Dean feels his lips quirking in a small, sated smile. “Mornin’, gorgeous.”

Finally Castiel smiles, the action crinkling the corners of his slightly, sleep-droopy lids, and he gets off of Dean’s lap slowly so he can take up the seat on the other side of the table. He finally takes a drink of coffee and hums in satisfaction, elbows on the table, mug up to rest against his chin as he gazes at Dean through the steam. “I could get used to waking up to this.”

“I have a feeling you just need to get used to waking up in general,” Dean teases, taking another drink of his coffee.

“You’re not wrong,” Castiel agrees. Something about him first thing in the morning is so… filling, Dean thinks. There’s nothing complicated about sharing kisses and coffee with him, no soul-crushing reality, no eye-opening conversations. Just… existence, and pleasure in the simplicity. Castiel looks out of the sliding glass door, making a soft, slightly surprised noise. “You fed Voodoo.”

Dean raises his brows. “Your cat’s name is… Voodoo?” 

Castiel shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee, still keeping his mug raised with his elbows planted firmly on the table. “Black cats are supposedly bad luck. I thought Voodoo would help me channel the black magic instead of attract bad luck.”

Nodding slowly, Dean sets his mug down on the table. “You… are so weird.”

The smile that unfurls on Castiel’s lips is knowing, obviously taking the sentiment as a compliment. That’s how Dean meant it, anyway, he supposes. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” Dean admits. 

“Good,” Castiel says, looking over Dean’s shoulder to where the oven clock is. “Being up this early on vacation should be a sin.”

Dean sends Castiel a playful smile. “What if I made breakfast?”

“I suppose that’s a decent offering,” Castiel amends, finally lowering his mug to the table, his forearms golden against the dark cherry wood. 

“Then allow me to make penance,” Dean says as he stands up. He passes by Castiel and scoops up his empty mug, dropping a kiss to Castiel’s perpetual bedhead, and then heads to the counter to refill the coffee. His own cup is still half full; Castiel must be the type who only functions on a near fatal dose of caffeine every morning. 

Dean stirs in some creamer into Castiel’s coffee and then returns the mug to the man, who takes it graciously. “What do you like for breakfast?” 

“Breakfast food.” 

“Don’t sass me,” Dean says as he opens up the fridge. 

“Eggs, toast, and fruit,” Castiel replies, not sounding sorry at all for his sass. A pause of silence, probably so he can ingest more coffee, before he speaks again. “It’s fair to warn you: even though I am on vacation, I am still a business owner. My employees call me often whenever they come across problems.”

“That’s fine,” Dean says with a shrug. His back is to Castiel as he pulls a pan out of one of the lower cupboards, “I understand.”

He can feel Castiel’s squint on his back. “They call… frequently. You and I haven’t spent enough time together for you to see the full scope of me having my work phone in my hand.”

Dean tosses a smile over his shoulder, “Cas. It’s fine. I’m not gonna feel neglected.”

Castiel’s squints even more. “If you do feel neglected, please tell me and I can field the texts and calls to Kevin.”

Dean wants to say something like ‘why don’t you do that anyway?’ but he bites his tongue as he pulls the carton of eggs from the fridge. Castiel is a business owner, a successful man and his employees rely on him for a lot. Dean isn’t naive enough to think that their time together will be absolutely uninterrupted, no matter what either of them want to believe. He’s not gonna be like what’s his name and make Castiel choose between his passion and his love life. Dean supports him.

The air around him shifts as he’s spreading butter around in the pan, and he feels Castiel’s lips on his neck before he feels the warmth of his body pressed up against his back. 

“You’re wonderful, you know that?” Castiel is saying against the shell of Dean’s ear.

Dean can’t help but smile as he sets the spatula down on the counter, cracking eggs into the pan one-handed. “Tell me more.”

“No,” Castiel says, teeth nipping at Dean’s lobe. He pulls away, Dean immediately missing the warmth. “You won’t finish breakfast if I keep stroking your ego, and I’m starving.”

“Hangry,” Dean mutters, sprinkling salt and pepper over the broken yolks in the pan. 

“It’s five-thirty a.m., I’m allowed,” Castiel says with a chuckle that harmonizes with Dean’s beating heart.

Dean could definitely get used to this.

And to think, they have two full days ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are lovely  
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


	9. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so begins the staycation! longer chapter to be a bit more indulgent ;)  
> as always thanks to the lovely [ThePandaSquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePandaSquid/pseuds/ThePandaSquid) for looking things over and keeping me confident! <3  
> enjoy!!!

The first time Castiel’s phone rings it takes a few moments for the man to pick it up from where it’s vibrating on the nightstand. After breakfast he and Dean had retreated to the bedroom to take a morning nap, feeling full and content and still sleepy. It hadn’t taken long for them to drift off, tangled in one another; so when Castiel’s phone starts ringing and he doesn’t answer it right away, Dean lets out a grumble and untangles his legs from Castiel so he can start bodily pushing the man towards the end of the bed.

“Answer y’r phone,” Dean barely opens his lips to talk.

Castiel makes a wordless grumble in reply and then finally picks up his phone, answering it. “What.”

Dean can’t help but snicker a little to himself. Castiel freshly woken up is… a pleasure. He’s like a grouchy cat, dissatisfied with existence until he gets caffeine or pets. Speaking of pets… Dean starts trailing his palm over the exposed part of Castiel’s stomach where his tank top has ridden up. Mmm. Smooth, firm skin, dips and crevices of his abs catching Dean’s fingers every so often. Castiel listens to whatever the person on the phone is saying and clearly holds back a sigh, if the way his stomach tenses is any indication, before he finally replies. 

“There’s a button for gift card redemption. Little white square. Click it and enter the amount and the code. No- don’t add it to the cash box. There’s a folder. Yes. Drawer. Write it down.” Deep breath. “Thank you.” 

The sound of Castiel’s phone hitting the nightstand is a bit jarring but Dean hums, curling up against Castiel’s back. “Everything good?”

“Newer employee hasn’t handled a gift card yet,” Castiel gruffs. He shifts to roll over, wrapping strong arms around Dean’s frame and drawing him close, pressing them together chest to toes, tucking Dean’s face in the crook of his neck. 

“‘Time is it?” Dean asks against Castiel’s skin, starting to press warm kisses to the other’s throat. 

“Nine.”

“Damn,” Dean chuckles. “Didn’t sleep long at all.” Then he hums. “Didn’t know you guys take bookings that early.”

“Mostly team building events for businesses come in during the early mornings when they can afford the time,” Castiel replies, tilting his head a bit to allow Dean better access to where he’s kissing. 

“Mmm,” Dean makes a noncommittal noise, scraping his teeth over Castiel’s adam’s apple slowly. He’s in no hurry and has no destination; just wants to taste Castiel, feel him relaxed and pliant. Castiel seems to be on board with this, his hands idly caressing Dean’s back through his shirt, but after a few moments Dean pulls away, cracking his toes and stretching his arms over his head. “Need a shower.”

“Want company?” Castiel asks as he too rolls onto his back, sitting up some to rotate his neck this way and that. 

Dean thinks about it for a moment; sharing a shower with Castiel would probably be more distracting than anything, but then again… “You got a good water heater?”

Castiel flashes an almost predatory smirk. “Tankless, electric.”

Dean whistles, and then grins as he starts getting out of bed. “Then by all means come and wash my back for me.” 

Castiel is hot on Dean’s heels as they move into the ensuite, his hands undressing Dean as they go. Uncaring as to where their clothes land, when Dean is naked he turns around to return the favor, exchanging kisses between passes of fabric, green eyes alight with affection and amusement as Castiel seems to get more and more impatient. 

“I’ll get an extra towel,” Castiel says, swatting Dean lightly on his bare ass before turning towards the linen cupboard.

Dean is grinning to himself as he opens the glass door and turns on the shower, holding his hand under the spray to test the temperature. It gets hot quickly and he spends some time adjusting it before he steps in, skin immediately flushing at the heat as he slicks his hair back. Castiel joins him a moment later and doesn’t even bother wetting his whole body before he pins Dean up against the tiled wall, the cold contrast eliciting goosebumps as he steals Dean’s mouth in a kiss. They lazily make out for a few minutes before Castiel allows Dean up for air, and then their hands wander slowly over each other, soaped up and not really scrubbing so much as caressing. Dean draws the line at Castiel washing his hair with a laugh at how it makes Castiel pout, but he does allow Castiel to massage his head while the conditioner sits in his hair. The shower doesn’t end up taking more than fifteen minutes and the hot water hadn’t needed to be adjusted at all, to Dean’s delight (honestly, he’s going to have to ask to see exactly what Castiel has so he can install one in his own house), and as soon as they’re out of the shower and patting off with their towels, Dean ducks out to his duffel bag to root for a few choice items. 

He returns to the bathroom with his travel cosmetic bag in hand, setting it on the spacious counter and unzipping it. Castiel is patting some moisturizer onto his cheeks and then glancing over Dean’s shoulder to peer at the items in the bag; face wash, serum, eye cream, toner, moisturizer (day _and_ night, thank you very much), along with shaving supplies. 

Castiel lofts a brow, “Impressive.”

Dean flushes slightly, “I got my first facial about six months ago. Changed my life, man.”

Castiel smiles and presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s ear. “Like I said before: it’s attractive that you take care of yourself in such a manner.” He joins Dean at the counter to brush his teeth, a mechanical action that easily falls into the domesticity of being in the same bathroom together, and of course Castiel is the type to floss daily.

“Hey, uh,” Dean turns a little as Castiel pads out of the bathroom, the words falling out of his mouth before he decides to eat them, “what are you gonna wear today?”

Blinking slowly and with interest, Castiel leans his shoulder against the doorframe, lips curling in an intimate, knowing smile as he folds his arms loosely over his chest. “... What would you like me to wear?”

Dean shrugs, trying to act nonchalant as he finds his little travel baggy of cotton rounds. “I uh. Um, I want you to be… comfortable.” That had been the word Castiel had used. 

The smile on the other man’s lips widens and Dean is struck dumb by how _handsome_ Castiel is, standing with water droplets clinging to his tan skin, the stubble on his cheek only a day old or so, blue eyes sparkling with open affection and adoration towards Dean. It’s a lot to take in all at once and Dean’s heart stops up a little, thanking whatever God does (or does not) exist for the fact that this beautiful, amazing man has deemed Dean worthy enough to be blessed with his presence.

“Then I shall dress comfortably,” Castiel says, sounding decisive as he disappears into the bedroom. 

Dean allows his eyes to travel down the expanse of Castiel’s strong back to where the towel hugs his hips, and then rips his attention away to focus on his skincare routine. Wowza. It’s crazy how he gets so caught up in how _easy_ it is to be around Castiel and then can get so blindsided with wonder towards the man when he least expects it. He takes care with the products he applies onto his face and brushes his teeth, making sure he’s sufficiently dry before hanging up the towel and making his way out into the bedroom.

Castiel is standing in front of his open closet doors, towel still around his waist as he carefully looks through the hanging items. Dean smiles to himself as he pulls out a fresh pair of boxer briefs and a pair of worn, comfortable jeans, pulling on socks as well because slipping around on Castiel’s pristine restored hardwood floors is too fun. He pulls a grey v-neck on and when his head pops out and he lays eyes on Castiel, he feels his throat dry up and all of his senses hone in on the other man. 

Out of the closet Castiel had chosen a beautiful orange sundress, the material littered with blue and yellow flowers and smatterings of green leaves. It’s spaghetti strap with a sweetheart neckline and ruched sides and a solid blue ribbon around the waist to tie at the back, the hemline falling just below his knees. Castiel isn’t covered in body hair but it’s dark against his tanned skin and quite obvious with how much of his skin is exposed but it doesn’t look weird, or awkward. Castiel carefully ties the blue ribbon at the small of his back and like magic, his silhouette changes shape. He picks the towel up off of the floor where he’d dropped it and he ruffles his dark hair carelessly to dry it, Dean noting that the act must be responsible for the incomprehensible bedhead Castiel is constantly sporting.

Castiel lowers the towel and catches Dean staring, his blue gaze serene. “Do you like it?” 

Dean snaps his jaw shut so quick the click of his teeth is audible. “Yeah.”

A small smile spreads on Castiel’s lips and he moves to the bathroom to hang his towel up before he turns to head out of the bedroom, swiping his work and personal phones off of the nightstand when he passes. “Second breakfast?”

“You’re perfect,” Dean declares as he follows, happily slipping along on the hardwood floor instead of picking up his feet. 

Castiel glances over his shoulder with amusement in response to Dean’s words and his antics, and once in the kitchen Castiel starts opening the fridge. “Do you like yogurt?”

“Yeah,” Dean leans against the side of the island that faces out to the living room. “Whatcha gonna make?”

“I believe the kids are calling them ‘Buddha bowls’,” Castiel says, pulling out a mason jar filled with yogurt. “So: the breakfast kind. Fruit, yogurt, oats, and nuts.”

“Sounds like something Sammy would be really into,” Dean says. Standing bores him after a minute so he moves to his usual spot at the table, stretching his legs out and sinking down against the back of the chair. 

“Eating healthy is something one should do because it is the right thing, not because they are ‘into’ it,” Castiel chastises, but there’s no heat in his words as he starts setting all the ingredients he needs on the island. 

“Well, now I have a personal nutritionist to take care of me,” Dean sends a sunny smile over to Castiel.

Castiel snorts, “Sam does a pretty good job.”

“But Sam doesn’t feed me good food and give me mind blowing orgasms, so…” he trails off suggestively, enjoying the way Castiel’s lips quirk up as he slices a banana.

“I should hope not.”

Dean laughs. “Gross.”

While Castiel is crushing candied walnuts with the handle of his paring knife his work phone rings, the volume up to reveal the most shrill, annoying ring ever. Probably to encourage him to answer it as quickly as possible. He reaches over to swipe and answer on speaker, not stopping his movements otherwise. “Kevin.”

“Hey, so the wallpaper lady is here in town and there’s a piece she’s a little confused about,” Kevin’s voice comes on, and Dean is struck by how young it sounds. This is the same Kevin that Castiel sings praises about?

“Which piece?” Castiel asks, sprinkling the crushed bits over the bowls. 

“Um… it’s a square window with wood framing and it looks like the sky outside. The top is yellow-ish and the rest is blue.” 

“It needs to go outside of the saloon, yellow-side up. There’s already two-by-fours framing where it needs to go.” Castiel starts slicing up strawberries, popping a whole one in his mouth to eat as he works. Dean is happy to watch the man in his element, focused on making food as well as focused on his business call. Amazing. Dean always gets so distracted on the phone if he doesn’t hold it directly to his ear and focus one hundred percent on the conversation.

“Oh- ok yeah we see where it goes.” There’s some shuffling, and then Kevin speaks again. “All the tape is up off of the floor and the iron is dusted, too.”

“Did you wipe the walls down with a dry rag?” Castiel asks, layering the strawberries into the bowls.

“Yeah. Oh-! And I got all the bottles inside the whisky cabinet. Should I glue them down?”

“Please,” Castiel replies. “And then spray some spackle around the base of the bottles so it looks a little worn and weathered. Just a little- if you overdo it, it will look sloppy.”

“Got it.”

“Could you also ask Deborah if she could clean up some edges in the high roller lounge?” Castiel starts slicing a banana. “There are only a few spots and it’s barely noticeable, but I would like them taken care of.”

“I’ll tell her. You’re lucky she understands your OCD.”

Castiel smiles. “I’m lucky any of you put up with it.”

“Only ‘cause you’re the best boss ever,” Kevin declares. Castiel looks pleased but doesn’t reply. “Alright, I’ll get all that taken care of and send you some photos of the bottles.”

“Thank you, Kevin.”

The call ends and Castiel also finishes the bowls, bringing them over to the table along with two spoons. What Castiel sets down isn’t breakfast - it’s a masterpiece. He has arranged the fruit around the edges prettily, piled the oats in the center, sprinkled the walnuts beautifully, and drizzled everything with honey.

“Shit man. This looks amazing. Are you sure you’re in the right profession?” Dean asks as he picks up his spoon. “Pretty sure you need a restaurant or somethin’.”

Castiel laughs. “I wouldn’t be able to own a restaurant or even be a chef. The phrase ‘too many cooks in the kitchen’ puts me off figuratively and literally.”

“Gotta be the boss of everything?” Dean teases as he starts stirring everything up.

“I like being in control,” Castiel agrees, with a slight edge to his voice that makes Dean squirm. “Besides, there are so many regulations to follow in the food industry. No one really tells me what to do or how to do it, as long as my employees and customers are safe.”

“That’s good,” Dean nods. He takes a bite, and then groans and sits back in his chair, sending Castiel an incredulous look. “What the hell, man. You’re gonna turn me into a hippie with all this tasty frou-frou food.”

Castiel hides a smile by taking a bite of his own food. “I think adding years on to your life should most definitely _not_ go into the ‘what the hell, man’ category.”

Dean laughs. “I guess you’re right. Don’t tell Sam, though. He’ll never let me live it down.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Castiel says, finally showing the smile and making Dean’s heart soar. The morning light is now shining full force into the kitchen through the windows and the sliding doors and it’s bathing Castiel in warm suffused light, causing him to glow attractively. Beautifully. Ethereally. And all of those other adjectives that escape Dean’s brain whenever he’s in the presence of the man sharing breakfast with him.

“Y’know,” Dean says, licking his lips. “I uh. Sam says I get ‘emotionally constipated’ and suck at sharing my… thoughts and feelings.”

Castiel sends him a wry smile. “I’ve noticed, but- continue.”

Dean rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I just- I really, really like you, Cas. I think you’re an amazing man and an awesome boyfriend and I’m doing my best to not think that I don’t deserve you. You’re taking care of me like we’ve been married for fifty years and it’s…” He nods, looking down at his bowl. The yogurt has turned pink from him stirring the strawberries and blueberries into it. “I like this. This feeling you give me.”

Castiel’s posture relaxes a little as he regards Dean. “I like the feelings you give me, too. You have a bad habit of selling yourself short, and I will do anything I can to assure you that you do, indeed, deserve to be loved wholly and fully and appreciated for exactly who you are.”

Dean’s heart flutters in his chest as he raises his gaze to meet the other man’s. “Charlie thinks we’re soulmates.”

“Don’t you?” Castiel asks, expression warm and open. “We managed to fall into each other’s laps at very… pivotal points in our lives, don’t you think? Unexpectedly.”

Dean hums. “‘M not sure I believe in the whole soulmate thing. But maybe I believe a little bit in fate, and can agree that us meeting was pretty damn well timed.”

“At the risk of sounding too forward,” Castiel says, his spoonful paused halfway to his mouth as his deep, deep blues scan over Dean’s features, gauging his reaction, “I believe you are my soulmate, Dean.”

Heat flushes through Dean’s body and he tilts his head a little, mouth falling open even though he doesn’t have a reply at the ready. He closes his mouth, licks his lips, and then sets his spoon down in his bowl. Once the butterflies die down in his stomach he chuckles softly, running his free hand through his hair. He never had a problem with his tongue getting tied before he met Castiel. Surely that’s a sign in itself. “Then: I believe it, too. Because whatever it is I’m feeling, I know you feel the exact same way. And if that’s fate, or soulmates, or destiny or whatever… then I can get on board with it.”

Castiel looks pleased, and one of his feet reaches out to brush over the top of Dean’s right foot. “You are very easy to fall for, Dean Winchester.”

Dean regards Castiel sitting across from him, strawberry juice on his lips, sundress hugging his frame, dark hair wild and blue eyes bright, and feels his heart grow ten times larger. 

“You too, Cas.”

\--

Summer turning into Fall is a change Dean always welcomes. He’s not really a fan of being so hot all the time, and this time of year is when the best barbecues happen - hot during the day for games and dinner, and then cool by the fire for blankets and drinks. Castiel takes Dean out into his backyard and idly tells him which flowers are what when Dean asks and informs him that he has a pecan tree, but the pecans only fall once every two years or so. Dean excitedly asks if Castiel knows how to make pecan pie - to which he answers positively - and Dean gets so excited he wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist and picks him up to spin him around, the skirt of his dress ruffling in the wind as Castiel laughs in surprise and clutches onto Dean’s shoulders. They spend a bit more time outside to soak up the sunshine, Voodoo occasionally slinking on the outskirts, just out of reach for pets and snuggles, likely on purpose. At around three they’re sitting in the padded lounge chairs on the back porch, feet up on a shared footrest, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Castiel’s phone rings, as it has been for about every hour since waking up.

“Thank you for calling Escape Entertainment, this is Castiel, how may I help you? … Yes, I’m aware my name is odd.” He picks up his personal phone off the little table between the chairs as well, opening up his booking agent app and scrolling through it as he holds the work phone up to his ear. “What day were you planning on?”

A wicked idea pops into Dean’s head. He gets off of his chair and knocks Castiel’s feet off of the footrest, grinning when Castiel narrows his eyes at him. Dean just sends up a sunny smile and spreads Castiel’s knees, tossing the fluff of the dress up to his lap. Castiel’s eyes widen slightly as Dean’s face descends to his inner thigh, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to the tender flesh, Dean looking up at the man coyly through his lashes.

“We…” Castiel clears his throat and licks his lips. “I have availability open all day. What time works for you?”

Dean noses up Castiel’s thigh and the ruffle of the skirt rests against his forehead; Dean grabs the dress and just tosses it over his head, coming eye-to-material of... red women’s boy shorts encasing Castiel’s bulge. Hot damn. He licks his lips and then reaches forward to palm at Castiel’s soft cock, grinning to himself when he hears Castiel stutter.

“It comes to twen-twenty. Ahem, it comes to twenty-eight thirty-five after tax per person.”

Castiel’s cock comes to life under Dean’s strokes and pets and hot breath. He pulls the waistband down a bit to expose the head, smiling wider when he sees the pearly bead at the very tip. The concrete patio is uncomfortable under his knees but he ignores the discomfort in favor of leaning forward to work Castiel’s cock free bit by bit until Dean can swallow him down wetly. 

“Fu-” Castiel gasps and then coughs, his hand resting on Dean’s head through the fluffy material of his dress. “We allow a maximum of eight people in a room at one time.” He sounds only a little harassed, and Dean takes it as a challenge. 

He hollows his cheeks and wiggles his tongue along the underside of Castiel’s cock, pulling back to suckle at the head and trail the tip of his tongue along the ridge. His fingers start jerking and Castiel’s hips buck ever so slightly, Dean not even bothering to hide the obscene sounds he’s creating. Under Castiel’s skirt smells… heavenly. Musky, soft, the detergent Castiel uses almost feminine when Dean inhales it this close. He starts bobbing his head, ears listening to the way Castiel’s breath and tone minutely change.

“There is a group discount avail...able if you book two rooms for the same time slot and book the party under one name.” The customer most likely can’t tell, but Dean knows that Castiel is a little exasperated at how many questions he’s answering. The few other times his phone has gone off today customers had pretty much just wanted to book and the process was an easy in and out - but this customer seems needy, and well… Castiel is now needy, too.

“You _could_ book online,” oh, a slight tinge of annoyance, “but for large groups I recommend booking over the phone. ...Yes, I am the owner. …Thank you.” Dean ever so lightly scrapes his teeth along Castiel’s shaft. Castiel stifles a yelp and then clears his throat, speaking quickly. “Which rooms would you like to book?” Dean gives a solid suck to the head of Castiel’s dick and Castiel drops one of the phones on his head, making Dean laugh out loud. “ _Quiet_ ,” Castiel hisses.

Dean has to press his face into Castiel’s thigh to muffle his hysterics as Castiel fumbles to pick up his phone and continue.

“My apologies,” Castiel sounds a bit more breathy now. “Please continue. I can book you right now.”

No… Castiel can still focus too well. Dean wiggles his fingers into Castiel’s panties to roll his balls around, stroking, squeezing, all while he bobs his head and then lowers himself, Castiel’s cock nudging against the back of his throat. 

“I’m ready for your card info when you are.”

Dean gags. Castiel jerks a little, sucking in a breath as he shakily starts repeating the numbers back to the customer to confirm. Dean pulls off with a pop to suck in a deep (loud) breath before lowering himself to take Castiel all the way in, relaxing his throat, exhaling slowly through his nose as he buries himself in Castiel’s neatly trimmed pubes. Castiel’s hips buck and he lets out a wrecked noise that he can’t even cover up with a cough and then he’s quickly thanking the customer and hanging up, probably the most rushed goodbye he’s ever given to a patron, before he’s flinging his dress up so he can tangle his now free hands into Dean’s hair. 

“ _Dean_ , fuck,” Castiel moans, still allowing Dean to control the pace even as he tugs intermittently at Dean’s hair. His hips start rocking in earnest, “Close.”

Now that there’s a bit more freedom Dean wriggles the panties down Castiel’s thighs to fully expose him, pulling off of Castiel’s cock to suck at the head as he jerks the rest of the velvety length, coaxing Castiel towards release. It comes with a low growl and Castiel shoving his dick as far as it can go into Dean’s mouth without choking him and Dean swallows every last drop before he sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth and grinning up at Castiel, who looks properly wrecked.

Castiel takes just a second to gather his breath before he leans forward, tilting Dean’s head up for a filthy kiss, tongue tracing every last bit of his taste from within. When they part he rests his forehead against Dean’s, blue eyes blazing into sated green, Castiel’s voice low and full of promise. 

“You will get what you deserve for that.”

Dean’s expression is hazy, his smile fuzzy around the edges. “Good.”

Castiel shifts to pull his panties back up and then Dean stands, his knees cracking on the way up, Castiel standing as well and fixing his dress. “You’re lucky that mom was too busy asking a million questions to notice that anything was off.”

“Am I?” Dean quips.

“Mouthy,” Castiel reprimands as he gives Dean’s shoulders a light shove. “Bedroom. Now.”

“Oooh,” Dean’s eyes light up as he allows Castiel to manhandle him back into the kitchen. “Gonna punish me?”

Castiel’s smile is salacious and patient as he and Dean enter the house. “Something of the sorts.”

Dean has to resist the urge to _skip_ on his way down the hallway towards Castiel’s bedroom. Once inside Dean walks around the edge of the bed to make it, drawing the covers up and arranging the pillows to fix the huge mess of them kicking the covers aside and making a tangle of things as they tried to wake up this morning. It’s a reflexive action, making the bed; Dean has grown up his whole life making his bed as soon as he leaves it, and he doesn’t think twice about it as he tucks in the edges and then climbs on, pulling off his shirt. Castiel isn’t in the room yet so Dean undresses down to his boxers, sitting criss-cross on the bed and leaning back against the headboard as he waits patiently.

Down the hall there’s a clang. It sounds like it came from the War Room, and Dean perks a little. Heavy steps sound on hardwood floors, a slight click audible, and Dean licks his lips in anticipation. What could Castiel have detoured for?

The clicking steps continue, slightly thick. Dean can’t place what kind of shoe makes that noise. And: shoe? Castiel put on shoes? Why would he do that before coming to the bedroom? Castiel had been so eager to get Dean inside-

Oh.

“Fuck.”

Castiel appears in the doorway of the bedroom. The pretty, soft sundress is gone, replaced with black and silver in the form of a corset and tulle skirt. The pattern on the corset matches the police hat Castiel has perched on his head, aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes, baton in hand. There are shiny silver handcuffs hitched on the skinniest belt Dean has ever seen, and Dean can finally place the sound of the shoes - knee high combat boots with a chunky heel. 

“I figure,” Castiel breaks Dean’s trance when he speaks, his gravelly voice a huge contradiction to the sexy, feminine outfit he’s wearing. He taps the end of the baton into his open palm, “that maybe I should wait for something like this. Start off slow… vanilla, even. Give you tender touches and rose-colored glasses. Our first time should be special and romantic, shouldn’t it?”

Dean can’t swallow. He’s listening with rapt attention, his cock already twitching. His mind is flashing back to the first time the Warden arrested Dean and how hard it was to keep his body in control when he’d first laid eyes on Castiel - but now he _has_ Castiel, he’s got the Warden in private, and oh, this is way better than Dean could have even _imagined_. 

“Is that what you want, Dean?” Castiel asks.

Uh oh. Dean hadn’t really been listening. “Um-”

Castiel hums, tapping the baton against his palm again before wrapping his fingers around it, giving it a slow stroke. “This is your first warning. You will listen to me and answer me when asked. Understood?” His hips shift, the tulle of the skirt barely touching the tops of his thighs with a soft swish.

“Yes,” Dean replies automatically, eyes mesmerized by the moving fabric.

A slow smirk filters over Castiel’s expression when Dean’s gaze snaps up to it. Dean’s brain can’t catch up with the fact that Castiel’s very masculine, hard lines are softened at the edges by the corset and the frills, his eyes not really knowing where to look because every glance is threatening to destroy him from the inside out. 

“That’s ‘Yes, Warden’, Dean.”

“Yes, Warden,” Dean’s voice cracks a little.

Castiel takes a step towards the bed, still idly stroking the length of the baton. “Color.”

“Green.”

“Now, answer me: do you want it vanilla?”

“Fuck no,” Dean breathes.

Castiel’s smile is wicked, “That’s ‘fuck no, Warden’.”

Dean tries to swallow but it gets blocked a little, so his voice is only halfway there when he dutifully says, “Fuck no, Warden.”

“Good.” Castiel smacks the baton into the palm of his hand, the sound bouncing off the walls of the bedroom and ping-ponging around in Dean’s head. “I knew from the moment I saw you that having you like this would be… exquisite.” Dean shudders. “Off the bed. Kneel on the floor with your hands behind your back.”

Dean scrambles to comply, his already sore knees twinging when he kneels down and clasps his hands behind himself and looks up at Castiel. 

“I’m going to remind you once again that this room is a pleasure sanctuary, not a punishment cell. I am the Warden, but I am not going to actively punish you for any ‘wrongdoings’,” Castiel does air quotes with his free hand, “that you may have committed. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, Warden,” Dean replies. He knows talking about things before they happen is crucial, that Castiel really is doing everything in his power to take care of him, but his cock is already so hard and he’s getting impatient. For good measure: “Green.”

Castiel tosses the baton onto the bed and then pulls the handcuffs out of their little holster on that tiny belt, the clicking as he opens them up sending chills down Dean’s spine. Castiel is _tall_ with the added height of the boots as he walks around Dean, each step measured, precise to make just the right sound as he rounds to stand behind Dean. Unable to see, Dean holds his breath and waits - and even though he knew it was coming, the sensation of the cool metal snapping onto his wrists has him letting out a small groan. His hands being cuffed behind him is new and he is a little thrilled at the fact that he’s basically rendered immobile like this, fully understanding and even expecting that Castiel will have to help position him to be wherever the Warden wants. 

Castiel slips a finger between the cuffs and Dean’s wrist, presumably to make sure they’re not too tight, before he walks around to stand in front of Dean once more. There’s a long stretch of silence as Castiel regards Dean, Dean’s own gaze roving over Castiel’s body hungrily, and when it clicks that someone is going to get fucked today, Dean can’t help but let out another moan.

“What are you thinking, Dean?” Castiel asks with genuine intrigue in his voice. 

Dean’s gaze snaps up towards Castiel’s. The gravity of the situation sinks in as the cuffs warm up against Dean’s flushed skin. Dean is going to fully have Castiel, today. Dean is going to let this man do whatever he wants to him, today - and from here on out. Dean is giving himself over to Castiel wholly, fully, mentally, physically. He had briefly thought, maybe a few weeks ago, that their first time going beyond foreplay would happen after a romantic date. That the dam would break and he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of Castiel - that he would ravage him, claim him, fuck him with everything he has never given to anyone else. He thought about falling asleep, sated and exhausted, in each other’s arms. He had even thought about _making love_.

But what Dean has in front of him right now is _Castiel_. Castiel, who is always in control of every situation. Castiel, who always seems to know the right thing to do and say. Castiel, who has Dean wrapped around his finger and yet never takes advantage of him. Castiel, who has made Dean feel things that he never thought he could possibly feel. Castiel, who makes Dean food and asks him how his day was and doesn’t _expect_ anything except coexistence. Castiel, who could care less about society’s rules and opinions and exists as _himself_ , unabashedly and unapologetically. 

Dean loves this man. 

“Fuck me,” Dean whispers. 

Castiel’s reaction is instantaneous. He slides a hand between Dean’s bicep and body to grip him tight and raise him up off of the floor so he can toss him down face-first on the bed. Dean’s feet are still on the ground, chest sinking into the comforter, his face turned to the side so he can see as much as possible of Castiel behind him. His shoulders are slightly uncomfortable but that thought gets washed away when Castiel grabs his hips and lifts his waist so he can slide a pillow between Dean’s groin and the bed. Cool air meets his heated flesh when Castiel shucks his boxers down his legs and discards them, Dean’s cock rubbing against the material of the pillow with a hot friction.

“Hope this isn’t your favorite pillow,” Dean gruffs.

Castiel doesn’t reply, instead helping to arrange Dean’s hands so they rest against the small of his back. Dean kind of wishes he could see Castiel - and the outfit he’s wearing - but at the same time just feeling Castiel’s _presence_ behind him has Dean’s head spinning slightly. Castiel pulls away and for a moment, there’s nothing. The room is quiet, the only sound Dean’s slightly puffing breaths against the blanket. When Castiel speaks, Dean feels it in his bones.

“Have you ever been spanked?”

“No, Warden,” Dean says quickly. 

“I recall you mentioning that you were partial to my baton,” Castiel says. Dean feels the cool touch of the heavy plastic trailing over the back of his right thigh. “But I think that’s too much for your first time.”

Dean nods, even though he would really, really like to feel the baton slapping against him. Castiel knows more about this stuff than he does, and he’s in Castiel’s hands (literally, figuratively), so he’s going to readily allow the other man to call the shots. Castiel’s hand, slightly roughened from all the hard work he does, smooths over the flesh of Dean’s ass reverently. 

“Today we will start with my hand, and then progress our way to other items on later dates.” Castiel’s tendency to get a little clinical when he talks shouldn’t turn Dean on so much but it does, and he nods his head rapidly in reply, cheek rubbing against the blanket. Castiel’s voice quiets a little, “You’re so good, Dean.”

Dean huffs out a pleased noise at the praise. He’s rewarded by a sharp tap to his ass - two fingers, he thinks, a quick sting that has him sucking in a breath. His fingers flex, his body squirming slightly. Castiel takes it as the invitation it is and brings his hand down fully against Dean’s skin, the warmth reverberating from the contact making Dean moan out loud. It’s a gradual build, a slow burn, Castiel’s hand coming down across Dean’s ass on that sweet borderline of pleasure-pain, working steadily to cover every inch he can. A few land on Dean’s upper thighs which cause him to spread his legs - when that happens he hears Castiel sucking in a breath, his palms now on each cheek as he spreads Dean wide. 

“Color.”

“Green,” Dean’s voice almost comes out as a whine. “Cas, _please_.”

The cool lube on his hole is a stark contrast to the heat woven into every skincell surrounding it. Castiel is careful yet diligent as he slips a finger into Dean’s ass, his other hand reaching up so his fingers can wrap around the chain connecting the cuffs. Dean exhales shakily, pressing his face fully into the sheets as he breathes through his mouth to try and keep his calm. He knows his cock is leaking, can feel the fluid chafing between his dick and the satin of the pillow, and it’s been a long time since he’s been on the receiving end but when Castiel adds a second finger and curls them just so, it’s easy to get lost in the sensations. The pleasure buzzing through his skin stems from his prostate and leaks into the ghost sensation of Castiel’s palm striking him and Dean can’t buck his hips up because his knees are too weak but he can manage a little squirm as a litany of pleas suddenly starts raining from his parted lips.

The fingers disappear and the twenty seconds it takes for Castiel to roll on a condom and slick himself up feel like an eternity. Castiel’s cock against Dean’s stretched hole has his pucker tightening in anticipation and invitation and when Castiel sinks home, Dean hits an octave he’s pretty sure hasn’t registered on his scale since he was six. Castiel drapes over Dean’s back, pressing kisses across his shoulder blades as Dean pants to try and center himself, the stretch colossal but the burn satisfying. They’re both quiet save for their breathing, and very faintly Dean registers the luxurious sensation of the tulle fabric sliding along his abused flesh. Oh, that’s a nice contrast.

Still draped over Dean’s back Castiel pulls out just a fraction, before sliding back in. His breath puffs against Dean’s ear. His hands move so he can rest his elbows on either side of Dean’s body, Dean’s hands trapped between the leather of Castiel’s corset and the small of his back. Another delicious sensation. Dean spreads his fingers and flattens his palms in a semblance of holding Castiel’s ribs as he fucks him, trying to find purchase. The movements Castiel makes are slow and unhurried and eventually he’s pulling out nearly all the way so he can slide back home, and once again Dean feels his patience starting to leave him.

“Please,” Dean pants. “ _Please_ -”

Castiel pulls out and then slams into him. Dean’s body is too pinned to react but he lets out an obscene mewl, fire coursing through his veins. Castiel quickens the pace with each thrust until he bodily pulls away from Dean so he can grab his hips and stand upright, the sting of the juts of his hip bones against Dean’s red ass _just_ on the cusp of pain and pleasure. Dean knows he’s not going to last long. By the sounds Castiel is making under his breath, he won’t either. Castiel’s fingers dig into Dean’s hips to leave bruises behind and it could be embarrassing, how quickly they’re climbing to the peak, but they’re both too wrecked to have any shame about it. Dean comes first, untouched and delirious, all of the sensations inside and out blackening the edges of his vision. Castiel follows soon after, burying himself to the hilt and then lying over Dean again, the leather and tulle sticking to his skin, tacky with sweat. 

They come down together and when their breathing is back to normal Castiel pulls out - Dean winces - and then there’s a soft clink and jangle as Dean’s hands are uncuffed, falling listlessly to his sides. Castiel helps Dean roll over onto his back to give his body a rest and he also helps him scoot up towards the headboard so all of him is atop the covers, peppering kisses over Dean’s face as he helps him adjust. He doesn’t leave, instead brushing back Dean’s hair, fingers feather light as he rubs his scalp, traces his cheekbones, strokes his jaw. 

Dean finally looks over at Castiel, a new warmth infiltrating his senses as he absorbs the soft look in the man’s beautiful blues. “Thank you.”

Castiel chuckles, seemingly uncaring that he’s still dressed. “I believe I should be giving you thanks. You were wonderful.”

Too tired to blush, Dean just averts his eyes for the briefest of moments. “You take good care of me. I’m uh, actually pretty glad our first time wasn’t vanilla. Wouldn’t have felt right, y’know?”

“Are you saying we’re destined for kinky sex for the rest of our lives?” Castiel asks, bemused.

Dean grins. “I’m down.”

Castiel rolls his eyes even though he’s smiling. “Good. I would be devastated otherwise.”

“Get undressed,” Dean says, tugging on the ruffles of Castiel’s skirt. “I need a nap.”

Castiel glances at the bedside clock - 5:07PM - and then hums. “You nap, I’ll get dinner ready.”

Dean sends the other man a sated smile. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel slides out of bed and reaches behind himself to start fidgeting with the clasps of the corset, arching a brow at Dean. His tan skin on display, muscles flexing and contracting attractively with the way he’s moving his hands behind him; he’s just… everything Dean didn’t know he wanted. A mixture of soft and hard. Commanding and yielding. Giving and taking. 

“You’re amazing.” 

Not the words that Dean had originally been going for, but he doesn’t want to tell Castiel he loves him while basking in the glow of a mindblowing orgasm. 

He’s rewarded with a small smile, “You’re welcome.” 

Castiel finishes unclasping the corset and pulls it off of his body as he walks away from the bed to exit the room, leaving Dean alone, wore out and exhausted. A nap, and dinner will be ready when he wakes up? Pinch him. This life is perfect. 

\--

Dean is roused from slumber an hour and a half later by Castiel running his fingers through his hair. Blinking sleepy eyes open Dean offers up a smile, wincing slightly when his lips stick together. Castiel returns the gesture and Dean is happy to note the man has his cute cupcake apron on over what looks like a woman’s tank top and yoga pants.

“Dinner is ready,” Castiel says.

Reminded of food, Dean’s stomach growls. He chuckles a bit as he sits up, grimacing slightly when his sore ass weighs down a bit firmer on the mattress. “Damn.”

Castiel pulls away from Dean to stand, merely offering a curt “Good”, before he heads out of the bedroom. Chuckling to himself Dean makes his way out of the bed as well, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from his duffel bag to pull on, wanting as little drag against his skin as possible. He tugs on a tshirt and notes that his clothes from earlier (along with the pillow he’d cum on) are missing, and he pads down the hallway to follow his nose towards the kitchen.

“You doin’ laundry?” He asks, still trying to wake up. He covers a yawn, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints his eyes tightly shut for a moment, before dropping his hand and finding Castiel. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, stirring something in a pot on the stove. It smells delicious. Dean makes his way to stand behind Castiel, hands on the man’s hips, chin on his shoulder as he peers into the pot curiously. Castiel hums at the contact, “Jambalaya.”

“Did you stalk me before we met? Because I’m pretty sure no one on this Earth knows what I like as much as you do,” Dean jokes as he pulls away from Castiel to start opening the cupboards. 

“Oh good, you never noticed me,” Castiel replies idly, seriously. “It took a lot of work to ensure that you never saw me. All of my research would have gone to waste and I never would have tricked you into being my boyfriend.”

“Ha ha,” Dean says dryly as he puts two bowls and two spoons down on the kitchen table. “I tricked _you_ , just so you know.”

“It seems we are in a cat’s cradle,” Castiel muses as he grabs a potholder and then the pot itself, carrying it towards the table where he sets it down in the center. Dean moves to grab glasses and the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge, sitting down just as Castiel does. “What do you suppose we’ll do?”

Dean shrugs, already starting to help himself by dishing up a heaping portion of food. “Keep going. I’m not giving up your cooking.”

Castiel laughs, “Good, because you’re the only one I want to cook for.”

They share smiles, and dinner conversation tapers into things like actually talking about what kind of water heater Castiel has and what fabric softener he uses. Castiel asks Dean a bit more about the garage and Sam, asking for details that normally get omitted during a day’s ramblings. It’s easy, domestic, and simple. When they finish their food they clean the kitchen together, a routine they fall easily into, and Castiel allows Dean into the War room to see what else he’s been cooking up. Dean pays attention to everything Castiel says, asks questions when appropriate, and even offers his own opinions - and he’s surprised when Castiel takes his thoughts into consideration, writing them down on post-its and slapping them up onto a mind map pinned to the wall. They putter around for a little bit like this, caught between talking and doing mundane tasks. At the end of the night Dean helps Castiel change the bedding and then they climb in together, trading lazy kisses as they settle in. 

Content. Happy. Sated. Loved.

Dean knows he can get used to this.

\--

Friday morning is much of the same, and yet better. This time Castiel wakes Dean up with a blowjob and a slow, but intense fuck, Castiel riding Dean’s dick with such sensual finesse Dean thinks he’ll never be able to breathe properly again. Lying on his back and looking up at Castiel above him, sleep tousled and dark with desire, it all settles deep into Dean’s subconscious, the image and sensations winding their way through his being until they crest into release. Castiel had taken his time but was no less profound and Dean is now absolutely, positively sure he believes in soulmates, because Castiel can’t be anything else.

Whenever Castiel’s phone rings, Dean gets better and better at tuning it out. Breakfast consists of waffles, scrambled eggs and fresh fruit, and then they get dressed in jeans and sweaters to head out for a walk around the neighborhood. Dean enjoys listening to Castiel point at each house and tell him snippets about who lives there; Dean learns, rather giddily, that Castiel pretty much hates all of his neighbors and only tolerates them because at the annual block party he’s only responsible for bringing utensils. 

The walk lasts about an hour or so and when they return Castiel barely allows Dean entry into the house before he’s pulling up his shirt and mouthing over his nipples, saying something about how good Dean would look manning the barbecue at the block party. Kicking the door shut Castiel starts to undress Dean but then Dean gets his wits about him, undoing Castiel’s jeans and then pulling them down as he starts to sink. Castiel stops him, however, maneuvering them over to the couch; Castiel sits down and spreads his legs with an indulgent smile, eyes dark.

“Don’t want you to hurt your knees again.”

Dean appreciates the gesture, and his enthusiasm shows in the quick and dirty blowjob he doles out. Castiel comes down his throat and Dean swallows it all, allowing Castiel to haul him up into his lap. They’re two fairly large men but they work around each other easily, and when Castiel jerks Dean off and kisses him breathless Dean sort of likes feeling small on Castiel’s lap, anyway.

The day is spent with Castiel fielding calls and doting on Dean; they do a face mask after lunch, reclined out on the back porch with green smeared on their faces and cucumbers on their eyes. Castiel ends up eating his cucumbers and Dean has to swat Voodoo off of his lap after the cat’s claws accidentally sink into his thigh, but they’re laughing at it all. Most everything is soft, but the underlying electricity that seems to always be crackling in Castiel’s veins doesn’t go completely unnoticed. Castiel unleashes it in small ways; tugging Dean’s hair to bring the man in for a kiss, hand going to Dean’s waist to press his thumb into one of the bruises he’d left behind yesterday, lightly swatting at Dean’s rear to flare up the tingles of the healing skin. Dean loves it. Loves that Castiel can catch him off guard and send his thoughts sailing far, far away. Castiel’s home truly is a sanctuary - Dean only thinks about work when it’s a conversation topic and he can’t remember the last time he had taken time off of work and hadn’t spent at least half of it wondering if everything was going ok.

By the time Friday night rolls around, Dean is pretty sure the garage could catch fire, and he could care less.

“What time do you need to take Sam to the airport, tomorrow?” Castiel asks softly. The lights are off in the bedroom and Dean is smushed up against Castiel’s chest, the other man’s arms wrapped securely around him, fingertips dancing rhythmically up and down Dean’s spine.

“Ten,” Dean says through a yawn. He presses a kiss to Castiel’s collarbone. “Wanna come? I’m gonna pick up Charlie and Gilda on the way so we can send him off as obnoxiously as possible. He hates public attention like that.”

“What an asshole, brotherly thing to do,” Castiel commends, speaking into Dean’s hair.

“Charlie and Gilda made signs and have streamers,” Dean says, sounding proud. “It’ll be awesome.”

“I’ll tag along so Sam has an ally,” Castiel says with a small chuckle. 

“Yeah yeah, I knew you’d be on his side,” Dean chides. He settles down into Castiel’s embrace, closing his eyes and feeling his limbs relax one by one. “I’m really glad we did this.” Castiel hums softly, not replying, but giving Dean room to continue his thought process. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed a break from everything.”

“I am glad to have given you one,” Castiel says, voice soft. “You work very hard and you deserve to take breaks.”

“Stayed busy ‘cause I was lonely,” Dean gruffs a little. He’s still having a hard time voicing his thoughts, even if Castiel is the one who’s constantly guiding him to do it. “Now ‘m not lonely.”

Castiel’s embrace tightens minutely. “I hope you can always find an escape, with me.”

Dean grins slightly against Castiel’s skin. “My escape artist.”

Castiel’s chest rumbles softly with his chuckle. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas.”

\--

Collecting Charlie and Gilda is an affair. Everyone is sad to see Sam go back to California but at the same time, excited about their little prank. Castiel is sitting between the women in the backseat and when they pick up Sam, Charlie immediately starts ruffling his hair from her seat behind him. 

“It’s almost long enough for a man bun!” she announces.

Sam swats her hand away from his hair with a laugh. “No way. Not ever. No man buns.”

Castiel hums thoughtfully. “It would accentuate your features nicely.”

Gilda nods in agreement, playing with the handles of her large purse on her lap. “Highlight your cheekbones.”

Dean shrugs, “Chicks dig man buns.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “The ‘chick’ I have is perfectly fine with my hair like this.”

“Ok Jonathan Taylor Thomas,” Charlie says with an eye roll as she sits back in her seat. 

Gilda leans forward so she can glare at Charlie past Castiel, “Take that back, J.T.T. was way hotter than Sam could ever dream of being.”

The girls high-five in front of Castiel’s face and the man barely even blinks, turning conversation towards Sam. “Is this the longest you’ve ever been apart from Jessica?”

“Yeah,” Sam licks his lips, his fingers busy on the screen of his phone. Either double checking his itinerary or sending woeful texts to Jessica about how he can’t wait to leave these assholes behind. “I’ve really enjoyed being back home but I miss her a lot.”

“You guys talked, like, all the time,” Dean scoffs. “It was like you were a teenager again. Heard you giggling at two a.m. at least four nights a week.”

Sam scrunches his nose up in distaste, “Only on Fridays and Saturdays.”

Dean waves a distracted hand, “Yeah, yeah.”, even though he’s smiling.

The nearly hour long drive gets filled with Charlie and Dean singing every single song on _The Dark Side of The Moon_ , one hundred percent intent on annoying the heck out of Sam. Castiel stays placid and only has to ask Dean to turn the radio down once so he can answer a work call and is otherwise fielding texts from employees (since Saturdays are hectic days for the company), and Gilda just bops her head along and taps her fingers on her bag to the beat. Sam stays in Bitch Mode the entire time and when Dean parks his car in the airport garage the oaf nearly breaks the door off in his haste to get out of the car, Charlie and Dean laughing obnoxiously with satisfaction. 

Sam only has one large suitcase and a carry-on so Dean, gracious brother he is, makes Sam tote it all himself through the garage and into the airport. Gilda hefts along her giant bag, securing it up on her shoulder and then takes Charlie’s hand, the pair walking ahead of the boys. Castiel and Dean are walking close but not touching - Charlie and Gilda holding hands is one thing, but two men in the same group? They’re a little unsure if MCI can handle that level of Gay. The airport is busy and bustling as usual and Sam leads them in the direction of his gate, all of them having to stop where the line for security starts.

“Welp, little brother,” Dean claps Sam on the shoulder and grins huge. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Sam claps Dean’s shoulder in return, mirroring his smile. “Been waiting to leave since I got in.”

A brief pause, and then Sam wraps Dean up in his giant moose arms for a tight hug, Dean returning it with equal force. They stay like that only for a few seconds before pulling away; Sam hugs Charlie and Gilda both at the same time, the women on their tiptoes to try and reach him better. Dean is succinctly pleased when Sam reaches out to shake Castiel’s hand but Castiel goes in for a hug instead; Sam takes a step back, takes them all in, and Dean can see that his eyes are watering a little but he doesn’t say anything, allowing Sam to have this moment.

“Love you guys,” Sam says, pulling the handle of his large bag up and snapping it into place.

“We love you too,” Charlie says, and then reaches into Gilda’s bag to pull out the banner Gilda had neatly packed inside. With a flourish she takes a few steps away from Gilda, who is holding the other end of the sign, the women raising it above their heads so it can be seen clearly by all. 

_GO AWAY_ is written on the white banner in sparkly pink lettering, and Gilda pulls out a party blower, blowing into it enthusiastically. Dean reaches into his pockets and pulls out handfuls of glitter, throwing them directly at Sam - who splutters in surprise - and Castiel pulls a party hat out of his jacket pocket, strapping it onto his face with a stony expression. 

Sam takes everything in for a moment, bewildered, and then laughs outright even as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I hate you all.” He declares, before turning around to join the line at security. The security guard merely arches a brow at all of the glitter falling off of the tall man and littering the floor, and Dean feels good to send Sam off on a high note, even if his brother is embarrassed about it. 

They stand and watch and wave every time Sam turns around to look at them as he passes through security. Eventually Sam moves so far into the crowd and the airport that they lose track of him and when that happens Charlie leans into Dean with a one-armed hug, pillowing her cheek on his chest. 

“I’m gonna miss the dude.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice slightly thick. “Me too.”

They clean up what they can and throw it away (but Charlie keeps the GO AWAY sign mostly on principle alone) and then walk out of the airport. Once outside in the darkness of the garage Dean scrubs a hand over his mouth with a sigh, Castiel automatically reaching for him to draw him in close.

“When will you see him again?” Castiel asks, temple to temple with the slightly taller man.

“Next summer. Flying out for his graduation in June. Then he’ll be back for Charlie and Gilda’s wedding in August.” Dean’s voice is a little dour as he talks, and he sniffles between sentences. 

“Less than a year,” Castiel notes, a bit unnecessarily, but Dean appreciates the reminder all the same. Less than a year ain’t so bad. “It will fly by.”

“Yeah,” Charlie pipes in from Dean’s other side, punching him in the shoulder warmly. “You’ve got us.”

“And me,” Castiel says.

The keys jangle in Dean’s hand when he pulls them out of his pocket to unlock the car. Castiel is still at his side, Charlie and Gilda moving towards the back doors, and Dean looks across the top of the car to take everything in, making sure his eyes meet everyone’s for a moment. 

“I’m really lucky,” Dean announces verbally, even though it’s really hard for him to say the words out loud without prompting. “Thanks guys.” 

Charlie and Gilda look shocked and Dean kind of hates that they are reacting to his words like that. He’s reminded of that ‘emotional constipation’ that stops him up frequently and he forces a small laugh, running a hand through his hair. 

“C’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.”

Charlie raises her hands innocently. “Sorry- just really nice to hear you say things like that. Like, of course we know you love us. But you don’t really do the _words_ thing too often.”

Dean flushes a little and yanks his car door open, rolling his eyes. “Ok, chick flick moment over. I love you, you guys love me, blah blah. Get in the car.”

Charlie laughs as her and Gilda get in and Castiel finally leaves Dean’s side to make his way to the passenger door, sinking down into the seat and buckling his belt. It’s quiet for a moment as Dean starts the car and as he’s pulling out of the parking spot, he feels a small smile filtering over his lips. 

This time Sam going away doesn’t leave a hole in Dean’s heart. The space is filled with love and friends… Charlie, Gilda, and most importantly: Castiel. 

He’ll have no problem being without Sam for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s spent so long taking care of the kid that it’s hard to think about the fact that Sam is firstly, taking care of himself, and secondly, free do to his own thing which, in turn, allows Dean to be able to do his own thing. 

Amazing.

His hand reaches out, palm resting on Castiel’s thigh. Castiel’s hand drops to cover his and he feels Castiel’s curious, quiet gaze on him; Dean flexes his fingers as he pulls onto the freeway, smiling to himself. 

The difference this time around is that Dean has sanctuary.

“Hey, Cas.” 

Castiel turns his attention towards Dean as he cracks his window a bit, listening attentively.

Dean offers the man a warm, private smile. “I love you.”

Charlie squeals and starts slapping Gilda’s legs in excitement. 

Castiel laughs, the wind ruffling his hair, lifting Dean’s hand up to his lips to kiss his knuckles as those dark, warm blues drink in Dean’s elated expression. 

“I love you, too, Dean.”

Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone else get totally pleased when movies/books say the name of the movie/book in a line??? just me???  
> multichap stories are the bane of my existence, i actually hate them :-) i wanna wrap this up in 12 chapters or less jsyk  
> sorry that it took forever for me to get this up - in real life i am also building a wild west town and i don't have a castiel or even a kevin on hand so you can imagine just how stressful and hectic it is in actuality... (((it's bad ass as all hell but i'm gonna need to not see anything western themed for like a month when we're done)))
> 
> shout into the void with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


	10. Say Yes (To The Dress)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pretty short but i'm already working on the next chapter so fret not!!!

“I look like a box.”

Dean puts his fist in his mouth as he turns away from where Charlie is standing in front of the mirror, doing his best to try and stifle the laughter threatening to spill over. They’ve only been in the tuxedo shop for all of twenty minutes and when Charlie finally found a suit she liked, the result was… less than desirable. 

“I’m sure it can be altered,” Castiel says, always the voice of reason. He’s looking at Charlie like he’s really assessing the situation with his usual attentiveness, but Charlie has learned to get used to the Impenetrable Gaze over the past year so she seems largely unbothered by his eyes drilling into her spine, where he’s no doubt looking at where they can bunch the material of the jacket together to make it fit better.

“Don’t they sell ladies’ tuxes at the bridal shop?” Dean finally asks once he has his emotions under control. Still biting his knuckle, though.

Charlie rolls her eyes a little. “You think I didn’t scope that out? The price tags are ridic, man.”

“Charlie,” Castiel admonishes softly, brows knit in that adorable frown he wears when he’s confused. “Dean and I would be happy to cover costs for your suit.”

Dean’s gaze flicks over to Castiel and he almost says _What?_ , but then he realizes that it’s an argument no one could win against the man. Castiel is incredibly forthcoming and kind, and he’s mentioned on more than one occasion that business is more than good and he has no issue spreading the financial love to those who need it. That’s bonuses for his employees, and surprising Dean and crew with random, thoughtful gifts. The man is selfless and kind and as Dean watches Charlie’s eyes light up shyly, he’s once again reminded as to how much he fucking loves this guy.

“Really?” Charlie asks, even though everyone knows the answer. She looks so young wearing the oversized suit, drowning in polyester. 

“Really,” Dean says with a nod. He slides his hands into his pockets, rocking on his feet idly. “Hell, we could even help Gilda get her dream dress.”

Charlie looks like she’s vibrating for a moment, before she launches herself at Castiel for a hug. Surprised, Castiel tentatively wraps his arms around her, looking over at Dean with raised eyebrows; everyone knows Dean isn’t very touchy-feely, but Castiel is typically uncharted territory altogether. The fact that Charlie hugged him first is pretty monumental, considering Dean and Castiel have been together for almost a year and all Castiel really does is shake hands or give head pats to everyone but Dean. So Dean looks on with a smile and a small thumbs up, and when Charlie pulls away from Castiel to give Dean a turn, he happily wraps her up in his embrace and kisses the top of her head. 

“You two fuckin’ rock,” Charlie says. Hugs are one thing, words are another.

“Let’s walk down the block to the bridal shop,” Castiel says. “Go get dressed.”

Charlie trots back to the dressing room, leaving Dean and Castiel standing by the mirror lounge. 

“You do realize we’re basically footing the bill for the whole wedding, right?” Dean asks casually, not a single hint of accusation in his voice. “We’re booking the venue, we contacted caterers, and now we’re gonna be responsible for dress-up.”

“It feels good,” Castiel says in reply, shrugging. “I don’t imagine I’ll be having children of my own to marry off, so this is nice.”

Dean lifts a brow. Children is something they haven’t really talked about since their first date at the lake. “D’you still want kids?”

Castiel turns to send Dean a small smile, “I've given it a lot of thought lately. I think I agree with your words of wisdom during our last discussion: I’m a bit too much of a career man to be considered good father material.”

Nodding, Dean hums. “Guess I haven't really thought about it since then, either. I like kids, but I’m happy being the ‘cool uncle’, too.”

Castiel chuckles. “The coolest uncle.”

They share a soft kiss and part when Charlie comes out gagging.

“Can’t leave you two alone for five minutes,” she says, but there’s a smile in her voice as she steps between them, linking her arms up with theirs. “Let’s go see how my fair princess is doing!”

Together the three of them exit the tuxedo shop and make their way down to the next block towards the bridal shop, where they can see a few women browsing around. They spot Gilda by one of the racks and walk over to her, Charlie pulling her into her arms for a warm hug. 

“How’s it going, babe?”

Gilda, normally very mild-mannered and sweet, lets out an aggravated huff. “I don’t like any of these.”

“ _Any_ of them?” Charlie blinks.

“Well-” Gilda glances over towards the side of the shop where it looks like they serve champagne while you try on dresses, “Some over there are really pretty, but they’re out of our price range.”

Charlie grins, “Good thing we have a pair of sugar daddies, right?”

Gilda blinks owlishly, then sends a skeptical glare towards Castiel. “You offered to pay, didn’t you.”

Dean’s glad she’s not looking at him. Gilda is soft as a flower most days, but sometimes she grows thorns, especially when she suspects people are going out of their way for her or Charlie.

Castiel nods and smiles beatifically. “We did.”

Gilda tosses her gaze between the two men for a moment, and then grabs Charlie’s hand and zooms over towards the dresses she had clearly been eyeballing. Dean and Castiel follow at a much more leisurely pace, occasionally pulling out dresses to take a glance at them, giving Charlie and Gilda space to browse. Charlie eventually wanders off towards where the tuxedos are, Castiel trailing after her, and then Dean is left alone all of a sudden.

Shrugging to himself, he finds a cushy chair to sit down in. He relaxes, crossing an ankle over a knee, and pulls out his phone. It’s a Tuesday, and he’d had to take the day off from the shop to be here, but he’s glad he did. The way Charlie had lit up when Castiel offered to pay had been well worth it. And it’s not like Dean’s bank account will suffer, either. Ever since he did work on Crowley’s car business for restorations has been steady, and he can’t remember the last time he did any grunt work around the shop. Being the owner helps, too. He still checks his phone to make sure he didn’t miss any texts or calls from his employees, and when he sees no one needs him, he slides his phone back into his pocket and settles back into the chair.

“Would you like a bottle of water while your sisters look around?”

Dean opens an eye to see a beautiful blonde holding out what looks to be a freshly chilled bottle of water out towards him. Grinning, he takes it from her and says, “Thanks.” He won’t bother to say that Gilda and Charlie aren’t his sisters. 

“When is the lucky day?” she asks. Her name tag says ‘Elizabeth’.

“August twenty-sixth,” he says, smile turning proud.

“Summer weddings are my favorite,” Elizabeth says with a smile. Her eyes glance down towards Dean’s left hand, not subtle at all. “And the lucky man?”

Dean shakes his head and waves a hand, “No lucky man. Charlie and Gilda are the ones tying the knot.”

Elizabeth looks up, apparently scanning the store for the two girls with unbidden curiosity. “Oh, I’ve never had a gay couple in before. Are they both wearing dresses?”

“Charlie wants a tux,” Dean supplies.

Elizabeth’s eyes light up. “We have some amazing tuxedos to choose from!” She presses a button on the little walkie talkie attached to her hip, free hand pulling the mic up from her collar slightly towards her mouth. “Danielle, can you go assist the two women in the designer gowns? One of them is looking for a tuxedo. Thanks!”

Dean latches on to ‘designer gowns’. Of course. He’s doing this because he loves them. He loves them. _He loves them_.

“Are you the best man?” Elizabeth asks.

“Yep,” Dean replies easily. He’s not feeding into her questions too much; it’s obvious she thinks he’s attractive, and maybe if he were three years younger and stupider he would flirt back. As it is, he’s very much ok with not giving in to her advances.

“Congratulations,” Elizabeth says warmly. She’s not laying it on too thick, thankfully, but Dean doesn’t miss the way her eyes scan over his features and body subtly as she speaks. 

“Dean, Charlie would like your opinion on whether she should wear a regular tie, or a bowtie,” Castiel’s voice comes before he does as he makes his way through the racks.

Elizabeth’s attention is stolen away for a moment and her smile broadens slightly. Dean wonders how many attractive men she sees in a day at this store. Must not be much. 

“I was plannin’ on a bowtie,” Dean replies, not standing up from his seat. He passes off the water bottle to Castiel, though. “So maybe we should match?”

Castiel nods, taking the water thoughtlessly and uncapping it for a deep drink. He puts the cap back on and hands it back towards Dean, before glancing over to Elizabeth. “Hello.”

Elizabeth plasters on a slightly wider smile, “Hello! Are you also a part of the wedding party?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. His hand drops onto Dean’s shoulder casually - well, it might look casual to Elizabeth or anyone else, but Dean feels his touch like a brand. Possessive. “I am the best man’s date.”

Realization dawns in Elizabeth’s eyes and they widen slightly, looking back and forth between the pair. “Oh-! Lovely. Well, you know what they say.” She laughs awkwardly. “All the good ones are gay or taken.”

“We’re both,” Castiel says, still smiling, fingers curling slightly into the meat of Dean’s shoulder.

“Right-” Elizabeth nods and takes a step back, clearly flustered. “Let me know if you need help with anything else!” She turns on heel and speed walks away, and once she’s out of sight, Dean snorts.

“Nice.”

Castiel shrugs, pulling his hand away. “Just because I am used to women hitting on you frequently doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“The women that work in places like this are vultures,” Dean says as he stands up, stretching his back. “Looked at my hand, didn’t see a ring, and dove right in.”

Castiel’s eyes flick down to Dean’s hand briefly, before he shrugs. “I don’t blame her.”

“Yeah,” Dean waves his right hand idly to dispel the weird fluttery feeling he got in his stomach when Castiel examined his left hand. “Let’s go see how our ‘sisters’ are doing.” 

Castiel chuckles softly, but follows Dean towards where Charlie and Gilda are. Charlie is dressed in a much more appropriate black tux, the tailcoats long, her figure accentuated in all the right places. She’s working on the bowtie when she catches sight of the men in the mirror, grinning and turning around, hands dropping the bowtie so she can hold her arms out to the side.

“Whaddya think?”

“Looks amazing, Charles,” Dean says with a smile. It’s the truth, too. Charlie looks like she was made to wear a suit. “You look better than I do in a monkeysuit.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Castiel says wryly.

Charlie laughs and punches his bicep. Castiel pretends to wince, rubbing his arm where she hit him, and then they’re all interrupted by Gilda calling out from the dressing room.

“Charlie? Can you go away for a few minutes?” 

Dean blinks in confusion, but Charlie claps her hands and grins. “I don’t wanna see her til’ the big day. Tradition and all. I trust you guys to help her make a good choice!” She claps Dean on the shoulder and then flounces back into the racks, and Dean calls after her to let someone know that she’s decided on a suit. 

When he turns around Gilda is peering around the corner of the fitting room wall, and once she’s sure Charlie is gone she steps out fully. Obviously, telling Gilda and Charlie that they’d foot the bill is just what the girls needed - it’s clear that they each had their hearts set on what they wanted to wear. Gilda looks like she came straight out of a fairy tale; the bodice of the dress is a strapless corset with a sweetheart neckline, detached lace sleeves covering Gilda’s fair skin from wrist to bicep. The skirt of the dress has so many layers of tulle Dean wonders if Gilda will be able to do anything other than stand prettily at her own wedding - throughout the tulle and lace are rhinestones, and every time she takes a step the light catches on them, making her sparkle almost angelically. 

“Wow,” Dean breathes out. 

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel says, his voice sounding a bit thick with emotion.

“Shit,” Dean lets out a hoarse laugh and covers his eyes with his palm for a moment. “Shit, I really feel like a proud dad right now.”

Gilda laughs a little, still a bit shy. She gathers up some of the material of the dress and walks over to the pedestal in front of the mirror; Castiel graciously takes her hand to help her up onto it and an employee, Danielle, gets up on the pedestal as well to start tying the ribbons of the corset. 

“Only minor adjustments will need to be made,” Danielle says. “Were you going to wear heels? We can alter the length of the dress.”

“Three inch heels,” Gilda replies. She’s looking at herself in the mirror with unshed tears in her eyes and Dean moves around to stand between her and her reflection, her gaze dropping down to his. “Dean, _thank you_.”

Chuckling to try and break the emotions clogging up his airwaves, he shrugs a little and subtly wipes under his left eye. “You both deserve this.”

Gilda lets out a sniffly little laugh, reaching up to knuckle gently under her nose. “We’ll return the favor when the time comes.”

Dean glances over to Castiel, who had answered a work call shortly after Gilda had stepped onto the pedestal. Castiel’s back is towards them and he’s speaking softly to not ruin the atmosphere, his free hand holding his personal cell phone, no doubt to book whatever the customer wants efficiently. He knows what Gilda is hinting at. He’s not stupid. And in the past year a lot of things have been so easy, so natural, it almost catches Dean off-guard a lot of the time. Staying over at each other’s places on the weekend, running errands together; sometimes Castiel will bring lunch by the shop, and sometimes Dean will lend a helping hand to whatever project Castiel is working on at the moment. They haven’t had a huge fight or a disagreement outside of the realm of “Cas, I have a dishwasher for a reason” - “Dean, you should still rinse your plate before putting it in”, and Dean hates to say it but he’s sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Can things really be this easy and perfect? He’s never spoken so many emotions before in his life and honestly it’s terrifying when he does, but Castiel is there to hold his hand and reassure him that his thoughts and opinions are valid, whether or not Dean thinks so or chooses to say them out loud. Dean had gone through so much of his life with false bravado and a ‘fake it til’ you make it’ attitude that it’s unnerving that falling into routine - falling into love - with Castiel had been so easy. He’s never been more _himself_ , and everyone in his life has taken notice of it. 

Dean finds himself smiling at Castiel’s perpetual bedhead, and then lifts his gaze back towards Gilda, who’s sending him a knowing smile. “You bet, princess.”

Once Danielle is done taking measurements and notes about how to alter the dress Gilda takes Dean’s helping hand to step down, before she moves back into the fitting room. Castiel finishes up his call and slides both phones back into his pocket, turning around and meeting Dean halfway for the hug he knew the man needed.

Castiel always knows what Dean needs.

“Man,” Dean laughs a little, pressing his forehead into Castiel’s shoulder. “This is surreal. I always knew they would be together forever but seeing Charlie in that tux and Gilda in that dress… it’s crazy. It feels like it was just last week that I was egging Charlie on to ‘get that cute barista’s phone number’, not ten years ago.”

“They grow up so fast,” Castiel says playfully.

Snorting, Dean pulls away and presses a kiss to Castiel’s clean-shaven cheek. “Shuddup. Ready to take these lovebirds out to lunch?”

Castiel nods, sliding his hands from Dean’s biceps down to his wrists, lacing all ten of their fingers together briefly in a rare show of intimate public affection. “You have a big heart, Dean. It’s ok to show it.”

Rolling his eyes in good manners, Dean pulls away from Castiel and gently pats either of his cheeks to try and abate the blush that sprang up in response to Castiel’s words. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles.

Charlie and Gilda come back in their regular clothes, hand-in-hand, and Dean sends them both a big smile.

“How about mimosas?”

“MIMOSAS!” Charlie and Gilda both yell in agreement, high-fiving each other.

\--

Sam graduates in June and both Dean and Castiel fly out for the ceremony. Sam gets overcome with emotion and gratitude when Dean hands him a personal check to ‘start looking for a real place to live’, and Castiel hands him another check to ‘get a car that reduces his carbon footprint’. Dean tries not to be offended at the implication that his car isn’t good for the Earth (it’s good for _machismo_ and that’s all Dean cares about) and instead claps Sam on the shoulder and tells him if he drives a plastic car he will be removed from his will.

Their stay in California is pretty short, more for function than pleasure; Castiel and Dean meet Jess for the first time and Dean definitely approves of her the instant she lets out a little nag about Sam getting a haircut, and Castiel is won over when she expresses her love for theater and art. After a four-day weekend Dean and Castiel are back in Lawrence to get back to regular life, as well as gearing up for the wedding.

Gilda’s parents have done quite a bit, even though they offered some arguments on Gilda and Charlie actually booking a vineyard for the venue. Castiel has taken on the role of impromptu wedding planner, and Dean is always checking in on him to make sure that he doesn’t have too much on his plate. Castiel even gives the work phone to Kevin halfway through July when they reach ‘crunch time’ for the wedding, and says he trusts Kevin to keep the business above water during his absence.

Of course, Charlie and Gilda insist on compensating Castiel for his time and effort - which he flatly refuses. Dean knows that the girls won’t let Castiel get away scott free but it’s amusing on his end to see them all plotting against one another. 

Today Dean’s schedule is clear of work _and_ play, and it’s a Wednesday; he knows Castiel is at his job today to help out with some team building groups that had scheduled specifically to see him. He wakes up bright and early, sends a ‘good morning’ text to Castiel, and then texts Charlie to be ready for him to come and pick her up. She replies with a question as to why they’re getting together, which Dean deflects beautifully, and when he pulls up to her and Gilda’s house and she slips into the passenger seat of the car, she fixes him with a Look.

“What are we doing?”

Dean glances over, noting that she chopped off all of her hair into a cute pixie cut. Grinning, he says, “‘Bout time you started looking like a lesbian.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Shut up. It will look hot with the tuxedo.”

Putting the car in gear, Dean pulls away from the curb and speaks quickly, not trusting himself to say it any other way: “I’m gonna propose to Cas.”

Charlie falls silent immediately. Dean doesn’t dare pull his gaze off of the road to check her reaction; he steadfastly checks his mirrors and changes lanes, his heartbeat picking up to an abnormal pace in his eardrums.

“DEAN.” Charlie suddenly yells, causing Dean to almost slam on the breaks. “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?”

Wincing a little, and unsure if she’s asking with incredulity or skepticism, Dean still doesn’t look at her. “Yeah. I was uh, gonna wait until after your guys’ wedding. Maybe do it closer to Halloween or something. But I wanna get a ring now before I talk myself out of it.”

“You should do it _at_ our wedding,” Charlie says, reaching over and shaking Dean’s shoulder. “That would be so cool!!”

Dean spares her a glance, “I don’t wanna steal your thunder, Charlie. You and Gilda tyin’ the knot is the main event.”

He can feel Charlie’s eye roll. “Of course she and I are the main event. But you and Cas could be the exciting after party!”

“Assholes propose at someone else’s wedding,” Dean grouses.

“I’m literally telling you to do it at my wedding,” Charlie insists. Her bouncing in her seat is rocking the car as Dean stops at a light. “You should do it during the best man toast!”

“That won’t- are you sure that’s not a douche move?” Dean asks, genuinely worried. “And I dunno, I don’t think Cas would really appreciate it.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Charlie reaches over and punches him in the shoulder, “You could ask Cas to marry you while dumpster diving and he would say yes. It doesn’t matter where or how you do it. But really, the set up would be super romantic, emotions will be high…” Charlie trails off, before her voice softens a little. “He’s going to say yes no matter what. I’ve never seen two people so in love and so right for each other.”

Dean puffs out a laugh, “Yeah, ‘cept for you an’ Gilda.”

Charlie beams. “Yeah, except for us.”

He pulls into a jewelry store, parking the car and pulling the keys out of the ignition so he can fully face Charlie. “I’m not good at any of this. Hell, Charles, even when I was with Lisa I never once thought about marriage. And now me an’ Cas have been together for almost a year and with all this prep for your wedding I just can’t help but think… it’s what I want with him.”

Charlie offers a warm, sympathetic smile. “Commitment-phobe Dean Winchester planning on popping the question is something I’ve never thought about. But I also didn’t know that someone like Cas existed. I know you don’t believe in soul mates and ‘all that crap’ but Dean- there is such thing as a right place, a right time, and a right someone. Don’t let your stupid macho nerves talk you out of doing something that is going to set you up to be happy for the rest of your life.”

“Giving me advice _and_ taking a stab at my fragile masculinity,” Dean snorts. “ _That’s_ my best friend.”

Charlie laughs and gives his shoulder another punch. “I mean it! And since Sam’s not here I gotta do my best to fill his giant boat shoes.”

Dean grins wryly. “I’m not tellin’ him, either. This is between me and you, Charles.”

Charlie gives him a dutiful girl scout salute, “My word is my honor.”

Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and makes to get out of the car, talking over the _crrrrrk_ of the door. “Alright- let’s get to work.”

They enter the store and are immediately assaulted by clerks. It’s a higher-end store that Dean normally wouldn’t look twice at; but all the money he’s been putting into Charlie and Gilda’s wedding has made him realize that while the price tag isn’t what’s important, the quality of what they’re finding is satiating some weird domestic need within him that he didn’t know existed. His wallet being able to support his choices definitely helps.

Dean waves off all the help with a “I’m browsing” and doesn’t get bothered again as he and Charlie start perusing the selection. Castiel doesn’t wear any jewelry as is, mostly because the labor part of his job runs the risk of destroying anything pretty he could wear, so Dean moves over towards the more sturdy metals. Leaning over a case of tungsten rings, Dean eyeballs a matching set. One ring is two-toned, silver and black, with a diamond inlay all around. The ring next to it is all silver with a diamond inlay, and he sees that there’s an option for engraving. He tries to look around at the other rings, but he keeps drifting back towards the pair; Charlie notices this and leans over to take a peek, before nodding and grinning, slapping Dean’s back. 

“Those look perfect.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, allowing his gaze to go back to them. A sales clerk approaches and he asks to see the rings - she pulls them out and sets them down on their little pillows on the counter, Dean picking up the black one and examining it. “The diamonds aren’t too much?”

Charlie shakes her head, “Nah, a little bit of bling can never go wrong.” She holds up her own left hand, “Even I got some! And you know I hate flashy jewelry.” 

Dean eyes her simple silver wedding band with a single princess cut diamond in the center, and then smiles a little as he lets his gaze go back to the rings. “They do look good. The silver would look really nice against his skin.”

Charlie nudges him wryly, “That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say. I’m so proud.”

Dean laughs a little, straightening and scratching the side of his nose idly. He looks down at his own hand and gauges that Castiel’s ring size is probably half a size larger than his own - and then he looks up at the clerk. “I’ll take one of each.” 

The woman titters excitedly and gets the ring sizes from Dean before she heads off to place the order. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth and leaning against the case, Dean still feels anxiety simmering beneath his excitement. 

“You sure this is right, Charlie?”

Because they’re in public, Charlie just huffs softly and nudges Dean’s foot with her own. “Quit second-guessing yourself, Romeo. _Castiel_ is right. You just gotta let him know that.”

Nodding, Dean offers her a small smile, some relief coursing through his body at her words. Castiel _is_ right. And Dean knows that there’s no way Castiel will say no to his proposal, but Dean still has that self-confidence issue of worrying about not being enough. Granted, Castiel squashes down his insecurities easily enough with a kiss or a hug or a word of praise. But this next step is… huge. Dean’s palms start to sweat a little and he wipes them on his pants, smiling nervously at the clerk as she comes back with a card reader machine and some documents to sign. He goes through the process almost mechanically, paying for the rings and signing the receipt and choosing to pick up the rings in store once they’re ready. Ten minutes later and he and Charlie are leaving the shop, an almost detectable bounce in Dean’s step.

“I’m serious though,” Charlie says as she and Dean get back into the car. “Ask him at the wedding. All of us wanna see the moment. Plus there will be photographers there already! Can’t beat that.”

Dean laughs, “All the birds with one stone. Right, right.” He puts the keys in the ignition and turns the car on with a roar, looking over at Charlie with a small, fond smile. “Look at us, Charles. Turning into real adults.”

Charlie flips him the bird, “You’re the only one late to the party, dickhead.”

“Can’t disagree,” Dean snorts as he puts the car in gear and pulls out of the parking lot. 

Better late, than never.

\--

Two weeks before Charlie and Gilda’s wedding, stress levels are high on all ends. By some miracle everything falls into place at the last minute (the cake that the girls had wanted ended up having an allergen in it that some of Gilda’s family couldn’t eat, so they had to go back to the drawing board on that and all of the other desserts) and now all they need to do is wait for the actual date to show up so they can put everything together and get the ceremony started. A week before the wedding they throw a joint bachelorette party at the Replay Lounge, the owners kind enough to set up karaoke for the group. The night is filled with drinks, laughter, and probably more embarrassing photos than Dean is willing to admit to taking, but it’s all perfect. Charlie and Gilda are over the moon for each other, Castiel is beautiful by his side, and even Sam and Jess make it for the festivities.

Three days before the wedding, Dean starts getting nervous.

Two days before the wedding, he opens up his sock drawer to pull out the box that holds the silver tungsten ring. 

One day before the wedding, Dean pulls Sam aside in the kitchen, face wrought with panic and eyes wide.

“Dude, are you ok?” Sam asks, skipping over the teasing little brother mentality and moving straight into worried. “You look sick.” He lifts a hand to Dean’s forehead, which Dean bats away with a slight huff. “What?”

“I’m gonna propose to Cas tomorrow,” Dean rushes out in a breath. So much for keeping it between himself and Charlie. But Charlie has been so busy with wedding preparation that Dean hasn’t really had an outlet for his anxiety, respecting that he shouldn’t unload his crap onto her just days before she ties the knot. 

Sam lifts both of his brows, but doesn’t seem so surprised. “Ok. So you’re freaking out about it?”

Dean nods, leaning his hip against the island and bringing his hands up to bury his face in them. “I got the ring last month.”

“Dean, that’s awesome,” Sam congratulates, patting him on the shoulder. “You know he’ll say yes, right?”

Dean shuffles a little from foot to foot. “Look- I know. There’s a very slim chance of him rejecting me, but- I’m gonna do it in front of everyone, Sammy. Public speaking ain’t really my thing. But I want it to be special for him, and for me, and Charlie already gave us our blessing to do it during the best man’s toast.”

“So…” Sam lilts a little. “What’s the problem?”

“I just- shit, man. I never wanted to marry anyone before I met Cas. And things are just so _easy_ , y’know. Nothin’s ever been this easy for me. And I’m worried about taking this big of a leap. Not with him- but just… in general. Should I wait?”

Sam puts both of his hands on Dean’s shoulders, grounding him, and forcing him to look up into his soulful eyes. “No, Dean. You shouldn’t wait. If this is how you feel and you’ve never felt it before, you should go with it. You don’t have to get married _right away_. Just get engaged and let things naturally pan out as they should, you know? You’re not forcing anything by asking him tomorrow.”

Nodding slowly, Dean relaxes slightly under his brother’s heavy hands and warm eyes. “I guess.”

Sam smiles wryly, “Were you just looking for my blessing?”

Dean grumps, “Well mom and dad ain’t gonna give theirs to me.”

“Mom would,” Sam says quickly. Then snorts, “Dad not so much.”

Dean offers a small smile of his own. “Wish they could see us, Sammy.”

Sam’s fingers squeeze Dean’s shoulders reassuringly. “Me too, Dean. They’d be really proud.”

Pulling away, Dean rubs his cheeks idly with his hands to abate the flush heating his skin, pushing Sam away from him with a lazy hand. “Alright, alright. That’s enough.”

“You sure?” Sam asks, a teasing tone slipping into his voice. “You sure you don’t wanna ask me to walk you down the aisle on your big day?”

“Charlie’s gonna give me away,” Dean retorts. 

Sam clutches at his heart, “I’ll try my luck with Cas.”

“You gotta sit in the crowd, your tall ass will distract everyone from the main event.” 

“More wedding talk?” Jess asks as she comes in from outside, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head, displacing her pretty blonde girls.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a glint in his eye.

Jessica glances between them curiously, and then shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t even wanna ask.”

“Good,” Dean says. 

Sam makes to leave the kitchen with Jessica, but not without sending a glance over his shoulder that clearly says _Don’t get cold feet_. Dean waves him off and looks away, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

He’s going to ask Castiel to marry him.

… holy shit.

_Holy shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this took so long to get out. i was really struggling with this story even though i know exactly what i wanna do with it. just a matter of actually DOING it, lol. this story _will_ be wrapped up in 12 chapters! thank you to those of you still sticking around for the ride even though my update speed is atrocious!!
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) to pick my brain and maybe inspire me to work on new pieces! i ask a lot of general questions to get inspo for things. i also tend to seek out beta readers that way as well!  
> see you on the next one!  
> love all of your comments and kudos <3


	11. Big Gay Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [dean's](https://www.zales.com/mens-38-ct-tw-diamond-brick-pattern-wedding-band-twotone-tungsten-1-line/p/V-20144880) ring  
> [cas's](https://www.zales.com/mens-38-ct-tw-diamond-brick-pattern-wedding-band-tungsten-1-line/p/V-20144879) ring

When Dean’s alarm goes off promptly at five a.m. on Saturday morning, he reaches out groggily to shut it off, his hand then drawing back to connect with his face so he can rub the heel of his palm into first his right eye, then his left. After a few moments of vigorous rubbing he lets out a small, content sigh, feeling warm and fuzzy as he shifts to try and roll onto his back - only to find himself pinned on his side with Castiel plastered to the length of his frame from chest to toe. Castiel’s lips brush against Dean’s bare shoulder when he gruffs out a somewhat grumpy-sounding ‘good morning’, making Dean’s heart swoop and expand and threaten to cut off his air supply.

Clearing his throat a little to get the ghost sensation to abate a little, Dean squirms until he can roll over in Castiel’s embrace. Castiel immediately reaches a hand up so he can push Dean’s head down into the crook of his neck, fingers in Dean’s sandy hair, knees slotted together. They stay silent for a few moments, Castiel’s breath evening out again, and then (regrettably) Dean starts to pull away bit by bit.

“We gotta get up,” Dean says, his voice sounding like sandpaper. Finally learning how to deep throat has been a blessing and a curse. “We gotta be outta the house by six-thirty.”

“Mmmh,” Castiel grunts in reply, only tightening his grip on Dean’s frame, preventing him from pulling away any further. 

In the cocoon of Dean’s bedroom, it’s warm and safe. The blackout curtains are preventing any of the early-morning light from streaming in, his bed is cozy, and the house is silent. It won’t be for long; Dean knows Sam’s alarm is probably going off right now, too. Allowing himself to relax into Castiel’s hold, Dean starts layering kisses across Castiel’s throat, tasting his salty, sleep-soft skin, humming in the back of his throat.

“C’mon babe,” Dean croons low.

Castiel’s hand slides down Dean’s back towards his ass, gripping a palmful of bare skin. “Don’t take that tone of voice with me before I’ve had coffee.”

“What tone of voice?” Dean asks innocently, keeping his words dripping with honey as he kisses up Castiel’s stubbled jaw. 

“The one that suggests you railing me into the mattress last night wasn’t enough to keep you satisfied for longer than six hours.”

“I love it when you talk in full sentences in the morning,” Dean says in his most seductive voice.

Finally, Castiel pushes Dean away slightly with a snort. “I’m awake. And I don’t appreciate your sass.”

“Guess you’ll have to smack it outta me later,” Dean says, finally able to sit up without Castiel’s octopus-grip keeping him in bed. He swings his legs over the side of the mattress, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. He feels Castiel’s eyes on him and turns around, catching the man looking at him with zero shame. Lofting a brow, Dean rolls his eyes. “We don’t have time for a quickie.”

“Says you,” Castiel says, inching towards the end of the bed and sliding his hand up Dean’s left flank, lifting his chest slightly so he can press an open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s hip bone. “We can let Sam and Jessica have their showers first.” His teeth nip sharply into Dean’s skin, sending prickling heat up the other man’s spine. 

Reaching down to card his fingers through Castiel’s atrocious bedhead, Dean lets out a shuddering breath, cursing his cock for twitching in interest. “We all gotta leave at the same time,” he says, voice tinged with regret. One of his favorite things about waking up with Castiel is sleepy morning sex. Castiel always seems especially… _invigorated_ , first thing in the morning. A bit more primal. More focused on chasing after pleasure. 

Sure enough, Castiel lets out a displeased growl as he finally sits up properly, disengaging himself from Dean’s body. “Coffee first. Then shower.”

Dean snorts a little and grabs his bathrobe off of the hook on the back of the bedroom door, tying the sash around his waist and watching with fondness as Castiel pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants. “I’m gonna shower, then. Less distracting with you not in it.” He teases, but it’s the truth. As he and Castiel pass each other they share a brief, but tender kiss, their hands gravitating towards each other’s hips for the briefest of moments before they continue on their desired paths. 

After showering, shaving, and grooming, Dean dresses in a pair of jeans and a tank top, opening up the closet to pull out their plastic-covered suits to lay them out on the bed while he makes sure he grabs everything he needs for the day. Extra socks (oddly enough, something that he always packs whenever there’s a day with Charlie - there have been too many instances where Dean had regretted _not_ having an extra pair), travel toothbrush kit, deodorant, and then finally he makes his way over towards his underwear drawer, glancing towards the shut bedroom door and pausing for a moment. He hears conversation muffled downstairs in the kitchen and figures he’s got a few minutes; he pulls out the boxes that hold the rings, chewing his lip. The boxes are going to be difficult to hide - so, he pulls the rings out of the boxes and slides them into his denim pocket, feeling the metal burning against his thigh as a reminder of his nerves.

Awesome.

He smooths sweaty palms over his pants and then shakes out his hands, picking up the suits and travel bag just as Castiel opens the bedroom door and re-enters. Dean’s nerves alight, stupidly, and he feels his cheeks flame in response. Castiel is holding probably his second mug of coffee, his brow still furrowed, hair still messy, but he looks a little more awake as he blinks at Dean. 

“You’re ready?” he asks, gruff voice on the edge of surprise.

“Uh- yeah,” Dean licks his lips and shrugs, offering an awkward chuckle. “Just excited, y’know? Been plannin’ this day a long time.” 

Castiel sends Dean a measuring look, raking his gaze over Dean’s frame. For a split, terrifying second, Dean is sure that Castiel’s x-ray fucking vision can see the rings tucked into the pocket of his pants. But after a stifling moment (probably only like .3 seconds, but Castiel’s gaze has always been _intense_ ), Castiel nods and relaxes his shoulders slightly. 

“It is an exciting day.” Blue eyes drag over Dean’s biceps. “I’ll be sad to see you get dressed.”

Dean manages to whuff out a laugh. “You don’t think I look dashing in my suit?”

“You look _edible_ in your suit,” Castiel amends casually, bringing his coffee mug up to his lips for a sip like he didn’t just make Dean’s dick spring. “But I do appreciate easy access.”

Rolling his eyes to hide how flustered Castiel makes him (still! After a year!!), Dean shoulders the suits and walks by Castiel. “Shower, pervert. We’ll leave when you’re ready.”

Castiel reaches out with his free hand to catch Dean’s bent elbow, the plastic wrapped suits crinkling loudly as Dean stop and adjusts his grip so they don’t slip off of his shoulder. Castiel’s touch is a brand and Dean’s breath hitches a little, looking under his lashes almost coyly to meet Castiel’s surefire gaze. Castiel is particularly… _extra_ this morning. Extra grouchy, extra touchy, extra possessive, extra… _hot_. Dean isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, and it’s not too often that Castiel gets into these ‘moods’, but Dean’s libido is currently reminding him what the outcome of said mood usually is. 

Boy howdy.

“Gilda’s favorite champagne is in the fridge in a special bag. Don’t forget to pack it,” Castiel says, before letting go of Dean and turning to shut himself into the master bathroom, leaving Dean to stare stupidly at the door. 

Well then.

Not one to be bothered by Castiel’s attitude (especially because at this point in their relationship, Dean knows that the behavior isn’t a reflection of how Castiel feels about Dean - merely, just how he feels in the _moment_ ), Dean leaves the bedroom and heads down the stairs, hanging up the suits in the foyer and setting the travel bag on the small table next to the front door before he makes his way into the kitchen.

Sam and Jessica are sitting at the island nursing mugs of coffee and they glance at Dean when he walks in. Judging by the way Sam’s face screws up, Dean makes a preemptive approach by talking as he reaches into a cupboard for a mug.

“Sorry if Cas was a little grumpy,” Dean says, opening the little drawer under the keurig to search for his favorite French roast. “He doesn’t do well on less than eight hours of sleep.”

“I’ve seen that man go _two days_ without sleeping,” Sam says, incredulous.

Dean snorts a little, turning on the keurig and then leaning against the counter. “Yeah- I think he’s nervous.”

Jessica tilts her head, her beautiful blonde ringlets bouncing over her shoulders. “Why?”

Shrugging some, Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Cas does good in smaller crowds. A wedding is kind of a big deal.”

“Anxiety?” Jessica supplies, nodding her head some. “He does seem pretty introverted.”

“Nah,” Dean sends his brother and Jessica a wolfish smile, “He just hates behaving himself in public.”

Sam’s nose pinches, “Dude. Gross.”

“Hey, but also today-” Jessica stops her words for a second, pausing as if to listen. It’s still just the three of them in the kitchen, but she lowers her voice anyway, smiling huge. “Today’s your day too, right?”

Feeling the nerves return, Dean offers a crooked smile and pats his pants pocket. “Yeah.”

Jessica sets her mug down so she can clasp her hands over her heart. “I’m so excited~” She turns heart-eyes towards Sam. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Sam apparently gets pinned by Jessica’s sated, almost expectant gaze, and is only saved by Dean snorting and laughing. 

“I think I hear wedding bells,” Dean says as he grabs his full coffee mug, bringing it up to his lips for a drink.

Castiel comes down the stairs, then, entering the kitchen dressed in jeans and a tee, carrying his empty mug. He’d shaved all of his stubble off and tamed his hair and wow, Dean’s heart (and groin) clench a little bit at the sight. Bringing his mug to the sink for a rinse, Castiel upends the item in the dish rack and then kisses Dean’s cheek as he passes him to head to the fridge, opening it up and grabbing the orange juice. 

Sam collects his jaw off of the floor and stands up, taking his and Jessica’s mugs to the sink to rinse them as well, his cheeks pink and his broad shoulders scrunched in hilariously to try and make himself seem smaller. Jessica laughs obnoxiously, clearly enjoying the uncomfortable moment, and her and Dean share a look while Sam grumbles under his breath about accidentally dating his brother in a woman’s body. 

Draining his mug even though the hot liquid burns a bit, Dean pulls away from the counter with a grin. “Alright. Ready, gang?”

A bit more clinking in the sink while everyone clears their dishes away and then they all collectively agree they’re ready to go. Castiel grabs the champagne from the fridge with a pointed look at Dean (“I didn’t want it to get warm before we left!”) and then they all head out of the front door, deciding to take separate cars. Dean and Castiel are in charge of meeting the girls at the hotel by the vineyard where they’re getting ready, and Sam and Jessica are in charge of helping the girl’s family get everything set up and ready to go. 

The ride out to the vineyard is long enough for Dean to flip his cassette over, and when he and Castiel ride up to the valet, Dean has to actively remind himself that these people get paid to handle cars all the time. He and Castiel get everything they need out of the backseat and then Castiel is dragging Dean away from the sight of his tail lights drifting further from him, leading him into the lobby of the hotel. They approach the desk and get a key to Charlie and Gilda’s room, heading down the hallway. There’s a few living quarters advertised but the whole place had been rented out for today, and Dean likes the cozy aesthetic of the rustic wood and floral patterns. 

They reach the correct door and Dean raises his hand to knock a few times before he turns the key in the handle, opening the door up and immediately getting assaulted with the scent of hairspray, cosmetics, and perfume. Turning his head so he can sneeze into his arm, he almost misses the “DEAN!!” of Charlie’s voice greeting him as she launches herself over towards him. She pauses for a moment to allow him to sniffle, and then practically climbs him like a koala in greeting, her robe falling off a shoulder.

“Good morning, Charlie,” Castiel greets warmly, any trace of this morning’s grumpiness dissolved from his affect. Kinda hard to be cranky when your best friends are getting married, though. 

“You guys shaved~” Charlie croons, reaching up to cup Dean’s face in her palms and squish it around a bit. 

Rolling his eyes and batting Charlie’s hands away, Dean moves to drape the suits over one of the recliners. “Where’s Gilda getting ready?”

“In a different suite,” Charlie says, straightening and adjusting her white silk robe. Her pixie cut has been styled into beach waves, the edges sleek, and judging by the tint on one of her eyebrows, she had just been starting her makeup. She turns her attention to Castiel, “You wanna go check in on her? Her parents are busy setting up and I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, holding up the bottle of champagne. “I think this will help keep her company.”

Charlie grins and punches Castiel’s shoulder playfully, “There’s a reason you’re her favorite.”

Castiel sends Dean a measuring gaze, “I suppose I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, voice suddenly strained with nerves. He coughs a little, then laughs. “Make sure you hold Gilda’s hair back if she decides to puke.”

Castiel smiles wryly, clearly catching Dean’s deflection of nerves - even if he’s not fully sure as to why Dean is nervous in the first place. “Of course. You two behave.”

Charlie sends Castiel off with a salute, “No guarantees!” When Castiel exits the room with his suit and the champagne to follow Charlie’s directions to Gilda’s suite, Charlie immediately turns on Dean and shoves his shoulder hard, knocking him back a few steps. “He has no idea!”

“‘F course he doesn’t,” Dean grumbles, rubbing his pec where Charlie had shoved him. 

“This is gonna be so good.” Charlie says, moving back towards where she’d been getting ready at a vanity by the balcony doors. She sits down, picking up the pencil she’d been using to fill in her eyebrows, tapping her phone to get the music playing again.

“You don’t seem nervous,” Dean observes as he makes his way over towards one of the chairs by the vanity, settling down on the thick cushions and relaxing as best as he can. 

Charlie rolls her eyes a little, “How can I be nervous? I’m about to marry the girl of my dreams, my best friend is about to propose to the man of _his_ dreams, and if we’re lucky, maybe the other Winchester will feel inspired, too.”

Dean chuckles. “I envy your optimism.”

Charlie shrugs as she finishes her eyebrows, fingers now plucking around a few items littering the vanity counter. “Not my fault all you men are emotionally constipated. I’m just here to get the ball rolling. And be able to call my girlfriend ‘Mrs. Bradbury’~”

“Damn,” Dean lets out a small laugh. “You’re gonna be _married_ , Charles. You’re gonna have a _wife_.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Charlie says. Dean catches her smile in the reflection of the mirror. “Y’know, ten years ago I would’ve thought this was some sort of fever-dream.”

“We were young and stupid,” Dean agrees, relaxing back so he can look up at the intricate wood lofts spanning the ceiling. “But I knew the minute you met Gilda that you two were gonna be somethin’.”

“Dean,” Charlie turns around in her seat, her eyes suspiciously bright.

Dropping his gaze to meet hers, Dean offers an easy, warm smile. “Don’t get all sappy while you’re doing your makeup, girlie. Save it for the altar.”

Charlie laughs a little, turning around again. “I was just thinking- the first time I saw you and Cas look at each other, I thought the same thing. That you two would be something.”

Tilting his head a little, Dean’s smile softens. “You could feel that through all the middle school sexual tension?”

“Please,” Charlie scoffs a little as she starts bouncing her beauty blender over her features, “I’ve seen you pick up people in bars, on the street, in the grocery store. The fact that a nerdy situation had you acting like a schoolgirl was so out of the norm we all knew it had to be pretty significant.”

Dean bristles a little, “I like nerdy things.”

“But you’re so full of stupid machismo that you don’t usually allow yourself to get into nerdy things, especially if there’s someone attractive involved,” Charlie points out. “The fact that you were basically able to be yourself from the beginning just made it all even better. From the get-go Cas brought out the best in you. He wasn’t just some floozy with a nice ass that you were gonna hit-and-quit.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his mouth to try and hide the way he’s smiling. “You’re right. It was different.”

Charlie dips a brush into some powder, gently tapping off the excess before starting to pat it over her features, “I’m just saying. This is all different for you in the _right_ way. It’s scary because it’s new. And that’s a good thing.”

“So I should definitely be feeling like I’m gonna throw up?” Dean asks, turning his gaze back up towards the ceiling.

“Totally,” Charlie commends. 

Dean grins. “Awesome.”

\--

Charlie and Dean straighten each other’s bowties, and then turn to examine their reflections in the large mirror in the room. The red and orange accents on the vests bring out Charlie’s red hair and the green of Dean’s eyes and they both grin at each other, sharing a high-five. Dean’s suit is a replica of Charlie’s, the tailcoats a bit shorter and the fit just as snug, the fabric of his jacket stretched over his shoulders and back doing everything to accentuate his frame. The waist is tapered, the pants are ankle-length (and he’s even wearing no-show socks), and he can’t remember the last time he looked so good so dressed up. 

Deciding that they’re ready to go the pair share a hug and then make their way out of the suite. There are some people milling about that greet them and congratulate Charlie, and Dean feels two distinct weights in his pockets as they move. In his left pocket, Gilda’s ring. In the right, Castiel’s. He walks with one hand loosely tucked into his right pocket, letting his fingers dance over the beveled edges of the tungsten ring, feeling the smooth lines of the diamond inlay, his heart rate picking up every time he gets the ghost sensation of sliding the ring onto Castiel’s finger. 

Outside where the ceremony has been set up is already filled, twenty minutes until Gilda walks. Every seat is taken, some people are even standing off on the sides; fairy lights twinkle in the trellises above, lighting the path and setting a mystical, appropriate mood. It’s midday but the atmosphere is robust with a day full of good tidings and blessings and Dean sticks by Charlie’s side as she makes her rounds to greet people and thank them for coming, introducing Dean as her best man, and him being every part of the ‘proud big brother’ he feels. 

They finally make their way to the front of the courtyard, where Charlie greets her mother, bending down to kiss both her cheeks and squeeze her hand. Charlie’s mother’s eyes are shining, her wheelchair decorated in white lace and red and orange ribbons, and she even gives Dean’s hand a warm squeeze, which melts his heart. He and Mrs. Bradbury haven’t always seen eye-to-eye when it came to Charlie’s ‘way of life’, but seeing the true happiness in the woman’s eyes allows Dean comfort. Charlie then turns to the other side where Gilda’s parents are sitting prim and proper, shaking both of their hands warmly - a bit less affection, here, because while Gilda’s parents are supportive, they’re not necessarily in agreement with the whole ‘same sex’ thing. But they’re here, and they look happy, and Dean counts that as a win. 

He doesn’t see Castiel, which sort of dampens his spirits a bit; he was hoping to see him before the ceremony, but if Gilda’s dad is currently seated, Dean has the startling realization that Castiel is probably going to walk Gilda down the aisle. His heart thumps with joy and he feels tears spring in his eyes at the thought alone; he subtly thumbs under one of his eyes and follows Charlie up to the altar where she greets the priest, the pair of them taking their places, facing the crowd, clasping their hand in front of their bodies. The crowd quiets, even if there’s an underlying buzz of excitement, and Dean spots Sam in the row behind Mrs. Bradbury, sending him a playful wink. Sam rolls his eyes, Jessica waves, and then the piano starts playing. 

Everyone turns in their seats towards the back of the courtyard, where the doors to the vineyard slide open. The entryway is empty for only a second, and then the hem of Gilda’s dress is visible first, soft and white, before the rest of her follows. She looks like a fairy princess and Dean can’t help the watery smile that breaks out over his features; her chestnut hair is plated with red and orange ribbons, the veil on her head already pulled back to show her beautiful features. Flowers are pinned to the veil and peppered over the rest of the tulle of the dress, the rhinestones reflecting the colors as she walks in perfect pace to the music.

And next to her, guiding her with a relaxed but poised arm, is Castiel.

His suit is a mirror image of Dean’s, his coattails much longer, sweeping along the ground alongside the train of Gilda’s dress. His silhouette is accentuated beautifully and he looks like a damn prince, escorting the beautiful angel next to him down the aisle, and Dean doesn’t need to look around to know everyone’s fixated on the stunning sight before them. Dean’s heart thunders when Castiel’s gaze meets his own, sapphire on emerald, and there are about a dozen cameras capturing the breadth of the moment and Dean can’t care because his best friend is standing next to him sniffling softly and his other best friend looks like royalty and then his _boyfriend_ , the man of his dreams, looks _unreal_.

Castiel and Gilda pause so Gilda’s father can stand up and press a soft kiss to her forehead, before they continue their way up. Castiel graciously helps Gilda up the two steps to the altar, and he leaves her with a soft kiss on the cheek, taking up his post opposite of Dean on the steps. It hadn’t occurred to Dean that he didn’t know who was in Gilda’s bridal party. A glance at the playful glint in her pretty eyes lets Dean know that the girls had set this up on purpose, putting the four of them together like this.

Dean won’t cry, damn it.

The ceremony itself is short and sweet. Charlie and Gilda exchange their vows, personally written and recited, and Dean manages to let a tear slip and doesn’t bother to wipe it away as he hands Charlie the ring. Everything is so beautiful, the mood magical, and when the priest says “You may kiss the bride” everyone cheers as Charlie reaches forward to dip Gilda gracefully, landing a thorough kiss on Gilda’s laughing lips. When they come upright everyone is clapping and the girls turn towards the crowd, hands clasped, and carefully start descending the steps to make the walk back towards the vineyard. Once they’re a few paces down Dean and Castiel step towards each other; Castiel lifts his arm in offering, Dean smiles huge as he hooks their elbows, and then they’re following after the girls, more camera shutters going off.

It’s a little hectic as the courtyard gets transformed from ceremony seating to reception seating, and the wedding party stays inside while the guests help set everything up. Gilda’s parents come in and congratulate her and Charlie with more sincerity, her mother dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, and Sam and Jessica come in as well to give Charlie and Gilda big hugs and smiles. Dean and Castiel stand with their arms across each other’s lower backs, absorbing the scene; Dean gets drawn into a few words of conversation with stragglers and Castiel stays his usual silent, observant self, and everyone is high off of the endorphins being passed around. 

When everything is set to the reception twenty minutes later the wedding party gets invited back outside, the crowd standing at their tables and applauding as they come out. They’re lead up to a long table at the head of the courtyard, the smell of the catered food tantalizing as it mixes with the heady floral scent lingering in the air from the decorations, and the four sit at the table, Dean and Charlie next to each other in the middle, Gilda on the other side of Charlie, and Castiel at Dean’s elbow. 

Nerves start to spike again, and Dean can’t remember the last time he was this anxious about anything in his life. Everything is going so swimmingly, it’s almost unreal; would him popping the question ruin everything? Charlie and Gilda had clearly made the effort to make sure that things would be going according to plan, what with bringing Castiel into the bridal party, those darn sneaks. Castiel seems none the wiser, content at Dean’s side, and when the waiters start bringing out the champagne glasses, Charlie reaches to give Dean’s knee a meaningful squeeze.

“Ready for your big toast?” Charlie asks, sending Dean a sunny smile. Her eyes, though- her eyes leave no room for argument.

Even if Dean has to stutter through his teeth, he’s not getting out of this.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dean replies, surprised that his words come out as casual as they do. 

Once the wedding party and the guests all have their appropriate drinks Dean takes a deep breath, making to stand up. He clears his throat, picks up his champagne glass, and decides to start off how he originally planned, y’know, before he decided to Pop The Question. 

“Charlie and I have been friends since our freshman year at college,” Dean starts, sending Charlie a smile. She lifts her champagne towards him, her free hand holding Gilda’s atop the table. Dean turns his attention back to the crowd, feeling a little bit of calm enter his system with the familiar territory. “And lemme tell you, we’ve been through some _shit_.”

“No cursing!” Sam yells from within the crowd.

“Shut up,” Dean fires back, making the crowd laugh in reply. His smile broadens some. “This morning while getting ready, Charlie and I started talking about what it feels like to feel _right_. How when the moment comes you’re not expecting it, and that’s what makes it so easy- it just happens without you even really thinking about it happening. It happens before you can get nervous and choke up and back out. And I started to think about how _right_ Charlie and Gilda are for each other.” The crowd takes a moment to ‘awww’. “Charlie n’ I are unique kids. We got a lotta bluster about us and we do our best to come out on top of every situation. But the moment Charlie saw Gilda, it was like she forgot about trying to be anything other than an idiot with a crush. No pretenses. No nothin’. Just her thinking about Gilda and how good Gilda made her feel.

It’s a little strange and a little cool to grow up with your best friend like that. To go from sharing a shitty dorm room, to sharing a shittier apartment - to helping her house hunt, surprising her girlfriend with an invitation to move in. It all happens in the blink of an eye and damn, Charles,” Dean turns his gaze down towards his friend, whose eyes are shining brightly, her lips quivering, “I’m so happy I got to be here for every step of the way. And I’m even happier that you’ve been here for _me_ in every step I’ve taken to become the somewhat functional adult I am now.” A round of laughter, and then Dean lets out a breath, setting down his glass of champagne with trembling fingers. “So it’s only right that Charlie is here for the biggest step I wanna take.”

When Dean turns towards Castiel, the crowd hushes immediately with anticipation. He sees blue eyes widen faintly in shock, sees a rare flush of color scatter across Castiel’s cheeks, and before he loses his nerve Dean reaches into his pocket to pull out the ring, holding it up to where Castiel - and the crowd - can see. A few people whoop, others murmur excitedly, and Dean fights his nerves to give Castiel a shaky smile.

“Cas, everything I admired about Charlie and Gilda’s relationship happened the moment I met you. I forgot about all of my insecurities and allowed myself to be _me_ for the first time in… fuck, forever. You’re the most honest person I’ve ever met in my life, and you’re so true to yourself it’s a fuckin’ inspiration.” Castiel is silent, but his eyes don’t leave Dean’s - don’t even stray down towards the ring he’s holding in his fingers - hanging on Dean’s every word as he speaks. “You make me a better person.” Dean starts to lose steam, emotion clogging up his throat and fogging his brain. “You… You make me feel _right_ , Cas.” He swallows thickly, gesturing idly with the ring pinched in his fingers. All or nothing. “Marry me.”

Everyone holds their breath. The crowd, Charlie and Gilda, Dean - Dean feels like he’s going to pass out. His romantic speech had gone off the rails in true Winchester fashion but hey, it’s not like he really had anything specific planned out. Speak your heart or whatever, right? Castiel’s eyes finally drop from Dean’s to look at the ring pinched between white fingertips, and a second feels like an eternity as Castiel slowly rises from his seat. Cameras start flashing. A few people breathe. 

Castiel lets out a gruff laugh, his nose wrinkling, his eyes crinkling as he wraps his hand around Dean’s, closing the ring between their fists. 

“Yes.”

Dean sags in relief, immediately caught by Castiel’s strong embrace as the man draws him in for a searing kiss. All of the emotions stuffed up in Dean’s brain release in an exhale and he wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, bringing him close, their kiss more like a mashing of teeth because they can’t stop smiling. Cheers roar around them and when they pull apart Castiel holds up his left hand expectantly, allowing Dean to slide the ring onto his finger - _home_ \- and then shakes his head ruefully.

“You’re sneaky,” Castiel says, pressing his forehead to Dean’s, cupping his face and smoothing over his cheekbones with his thumbs.

Dean reaches into his pocket for his matching black ring, holding it up with a lofty smile. “Sometimes.” 

Chuckling, Castiel plucks the ring from Dean’s grip and then carefully slides it on to his finger, his blue blue gaze admiring how it looks. Dean’s skin tingles wherever Castiel’s eyes land. Another moment, and people are still cheering - they share another kiss and then Dean laughs when he feels Charlie’s fists hammering on his back, her loud whoops of excitement causing him to turn around and scoop her up into his arms. Gilda is clapping, and after a few rounds of laughter and head shakes, all four of them hold up their champagne glasses.

“To big gay love!” Charlie yells.

“Big gay love!” The crowd echoes enthusiastically, making everyone laugh even harder as they knock back their champagne. 

One arm around Charlie’s shoulders, the other arm around Castiel’s waist, Gilda wrapping her arms around Dean’s torso to squish against his chest - Dean feels full.

He feels _right_.

\--

The rest of the reception goes by in a blur. Castiel and Dean are attached at the hip, accepting congratulations from friends and strangers alike. It feels surreal, this blissful bubble, and every time there’s a pause Dean catches himself gazing at Castiel, who, of course, catches him and sends him warm smiles. Over the course of a few hours Castiel’s touches start getting a little heavier, a little firmer, a little… possessive, and Dean starts to feel the heat creep up the base of his spine whenever Castiel leans in a bit too close, lingers a bit too long. Dean trips up a few of his words occasionally while talking but no one seems to notice - no one except Castiel, that is, who only continues to do his best to continue to render Dean basically useless for human interaction.

When the music starts Charlie and Gilda share their first dance to a song Dean recognizes from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ , chuckling to himself. Castiel only disentangles himself from Dean so he can get on the dance floor and take Charlie’s place, looking as princely as ever as he sweeps the beautiful fairy princess around the wood floor, and damn, Dean wonders when Castiel learned to dance like that. Or had he always known? He’s elegant and courteous and Gilda looks like she’s floating as he leads her around. He lets her off with a graceful spin and she walks backwards towards the sideline where Charlie is waiting for her, and then Castiel is turning towards Dean, one arm behind his back, the other hand - his left hand, the diamonds of his ring catching the fairy lights - extended out towards Dean.

Flushing down the back of his neck, Dean awkwardly steps onto the dance floor. He’s never had dance lessons and can carry a beat with his feet, but this is an entirely different realm. And Castiel looks so good and Dean is going to be so clumsy, he’s going to step on his toes or knock him over and- 

“Relax,” Castiel says, drawing Dean’s right hand up in his left, his other hand resting around Dean’s waist. “I’ll lead.”

“Your funeral,” Dean mutters. 

Castiel laughs, throwing his head back, the motion radiant and causing butterflies to erupt in Dean’s stomach. When he calms himself he meets Dean’s gaze, blue eyes intense even with his fond smile. “Watch me, not your feet.”

Easier said than done, Dean thinks. But then Castiel starts moving and Dean has no choice but to follow - he can’t even complain about being the ‘girl’ in this case, because he knows he wouldn’t be able to lead for shit - and as they find the beat and Castiel sweeps them around, Dean finds it less and less of a hassle to just let his feet follow wherever Castiel wordlessly suggests they go. And the thing about being with Castiel - being with him, tied to him, in tune with him - is that it’s too easy for Dean to let go of everything else and just allow himself to… be. Allow himself to be guided, directed. Castiel has this special way of turning Dean co-pilot, whether it’s in the bedroom trying something new or trying a different brand of laundry detergent. As Dean looks into ocean blue eyes he knows this is it. 

This is his great escape.

“Cas,” Dean breathes without permission, the sound needy and slightly pitched. 

Castiel’s eyes darken immediately at the tone and he turns sharply, walking Dean backwards to the crescendo of the song, crowding up in the man’s space and filling his senses with sandalwood and champagne. Dean barely even stumbles, allowing Castiel to move him, and when the song comes to a stop Castiel pulls away a fraction and uses his grip on Dean’s hand to spin him, drawing the man’s back into his chest, pressing his nose into the crook of Dean’s neck and inhaling sharply.

“Go.” Castiel murmurs low against Dean’s skin, sending tingles racing through Dean’s extremities. “I will find you.”

Swallowing thickly, Dean turns his head a bit to try and catch Castiel’s gaze. He doesn’t - Castiel pulls away and gives his lower back a gentle push as the crowd starts cheering and approaching the dance floor for their turn. He gets jostled a little, cheeks flushed, body hot, laughing awkwardly as people pat him on the back and congratulate him, trying to pretend like his dick isn’t half hard and Castiel’s promise isn’t ringing in his head like church bells. 

He leaves the dance floor per Castiel’s command, not daring to look back to see where his fiance went. Instead, he knows he slips through the crowd mostly unnoticed, heading towards the bathrooms at first - and then deciding against it, running his palms over his slacks as he instead veers towards the front desk of the living quarters. Flashing a charming smile at the girl behind the counter, Dean pulls his wallet out of his pocket.

“Please add a room for the night,” he requests. “As private as it gets.”

The woman looks at his I.D. to match the name to the booking, and then sends him a smile as she hands over a beautiful iron key. “Down the hall and to the left.”

“Thank you,” Dean says, surprised at how composed he was for that. He slips his wallet back into his pocket and makes his way down the hallway, glancing around. There doesn’t seem to be any other rooms on this side of the villa and he appreciates that as he swings a hard left, walking down another corridor to stop at the door at the end of the hall. Shaky fingers put the key in the lock and twist, opening up the door to reveal a softly decorated bungalow; a four poster bed situated in the center of the room with sheer tapestry hanging from the rails, a jetted tub standing on its own by a large picture window, and a fireplace opposite of it. 

Letting out a breath, Dean leaves the door unlocked. He loosens his bowtie a little and moves into the attached bathroom, turning on the cold water and splashing his face a few times. He pats his skin dry with a soft towel, wipes his fingers, and then allows his gaze to get caught by his ring on his wedding finger. 

He hears the door to the room open and he puts the towel on the rack and takes a step out of the bathroom, eyes falling on Castiel, who uses his foot to shut the door behind him. His hair is tousled like he’s been running his hands through it, his eyes dark, his shoulders tense. Dean pauses in his motions, unsure if he should move forward or away, Castiel’s gaze _predatory_ as he looks at Dean. 

Castiel crosses the room in three long, powerful strides, reaching up to catch Dean’s jaw and drag him into a rough kiss. Dean melts into him immediately, reaching up to clutch at Castiel’s shoulders for a moment before sliding his hands up to tangle into his mop of hair, fingers carding through the softness, pulling slightly at the roots to get Castiel to moan into his mouth. They walk sideways towards the bed and when their knees hit Castiel breaks the kiss to throw Dean down onto the mattress, reaching up to start undoing his own bowtie. 

“You have no idea,” Castiel starts saying, his gravelly voice ricocheting through Dean’s system, “how hard it was for me to not pin you down on the dance floor.”

Dean swallows thickly, but he stays where he landed on the bed, knowing better than to undress without permission. “Y-yeah?”

The bowtie drops from Castiel’s fingers and he reaches up to undo the two tailcoat buttons, shrugging out of the material. He seems to calm a little, draping the jacket over a chair, taking a few deep breaths as his fingers start working on the buttons of his vest. “Yes. You’re so beautiful, Dean, when you say my name and look at me like I’m the only person in the room.”

Dean’s fingers twitch against the bedspread as Castiel sheds his vest and starts on the cufflinks of his shirt. 

“You’ve done so well today,” Castiel praises, the compliment flushing through Dean’s body, fingertips to toes. He shrugs off his shirt, tossing it over his vest. There he stops, standing in his slacks, belt done, shoes tied, and he holds out his left hand - purposely, Dean knows, his gaze flicking towards the diamonds - beckoning Dean forward. “I had to take a stroll to calm myself down. It wouldn’t do well to debauch you at our best friend’s wedding.”

Dean follows the beckon like a moth to the flame as he slides off of the bed, walking towards Castiel on his knees. When he’s within reach Castiel’s fingers slide under Dean’s jaw and tilt his head up, crotch at eye-level, and from this angle Dean can see Castiel’s pulse thumping against his jugular. “Cas.”

Castiel’s fingers squeeze either side of Dean’s chin, giving his jaw a bit of a jerk.

“ _Sir_ ,” Dean quickly corrects, lashes fluttering.

Castiel’s knuckles relax a little, and the way he drapes his hand leaves his ring in close proximity to Dean’s mouth. So, Dean kisses the band, feeling the diamonds on his lips. Castiel suppresses a shudder and then uses his hand to push back Dean’s styled hair, messing it up, helping Dean tilt his head back again. “You’re mine, Dean.”

“Yours,” Dean agrees breathlessly. His gaze drops towards Castiel’s crotch, where there’s a tent beginning to form in his slacks. “Please.”

Using his free hand to unbuckle his belt, Castiel doesn’t let his gaze waver from Dean’s features. “You’re going to be my husband, Dean.” The words are thick with arousal, a little odd for the endearing phrase, but Dean appreciates it all the same. “I’m going to have you for the rest of my life.”

Nodding, Dean exhales shakily when Castiel pushes his slacks down his thighs to reveal black silk briefs. If there’s one thing Dean loves it’s the power play Castiel succeeds in performing while being in control and wearing feminine clothing. It wrecks Dean. Castiel’s cock is pressing against the fabric and there’s a wet spot on them, and that’s where Dean leans in immediately to press a chaste kiss. Castiel sucks in a breath above him but doesn’t deter him, which encourages Dean to start mouthing over the bulge, breathing hotly, making sure to get it nice and damp. His breath bounces back at him, tinged with champagne and cheesecake, and after a few short moments of him mouthing hungrily over Castiel’s panties - smelling his musk, feeling his arousal pulsing - Castiel finally reaches to lower the band of silk. His cock springs free and the wet head smacks Dean’s cheek, making him moan out as he turns his head and parts his lips to swallow it down. Immediately he relaxes his throat and takes in a breath through his nose, holding still because he knows Castiel likes to control the movements. 

When Castiel moves, it’s torturous. Dean feels the drag and slide of his heavy cock on his tongue, against his teeth, the precum a contrast to the sweet taste lingering in his mouth from the reception. Castiel moves both hands into Dean’s hair, holding his head in place as he starts to fuck into Dean’s throat. Dean’s eyes water but he keeps them open, looking his fill; watching the way the satin shifts over Castiel’s tan skin, watching his abs tense, raising higher to take in the dusky peaks of his nipples. Castiel pulls out of Dean’s mouth suddenly, dropping to his knees and kissing him filthy, tongue fucking into Dean’s slack mouth before he starts working frenzied hands over Dean’s clothes to try and get them off.

“I’m going to open you up with my mouth,” Castiel growls against Dean’s jaw as he shucks his coat off of his frame. “I’m going to fuck your hole with my tongue until you cum, and then I’m going to fuck you with my cock until you cry.”

Dean’s already close to tears with the intensity of Castiel’s tone and the way his hands ravage his body, and when Dean’s finally naked he thinks he’s going to be propped up on the bed - but he gets surprised when Castiel manhandles him to his hands and knees right there on the floor, the soft throw rug cushioning his knees. Dean _keens_ , presenting his ass, and is rewarded with a sharp slap to his upper thigh, the burn spreading through his limbs. The next sensation is the foreign feeling of Castiel’s smooth jaw nuzzling against his ass cheek - the stubble burn is typically a nice reminder of a good time - but it still feels good all the same, Castiel’s warm breath skating over Dean’s tensing hole. Dean fists the rug in his hands and presses his chest down flat to it, spreading his knees wide, and he feels the first swipe of Castiel’s flat tongue against his pucker like he’s feeling sensation for the first time in his life. It electrifies him, it shoots through all of his nerve endings, and his mind goes into that blissfully blank state of _Castiel_ that only the man behind him can accomplish.

Castiel takes his time, as promised. His first few licks are wet and wide, from scrotum to crack and back down again. His hands keep Dean’s cheeks pulled apart, fingertips pressing into the meat, and Dean could probably just exist in the sweet plane of existence that exists only on the other side of Castiel’s mouth. And Castiel is _sloppy_ when he eats ass, allowing his saliva to dribble and drip, the noises he makes utterly obscene as he loses himself in the sensation. Dean’s never been eaten out so intensely in his life - hell, his sex life in general had never been so intense until Castiel came (ha) into it - and every time Castiel indulges, Dean sees stars.

Of course, anything and everything Castiel does to Dean works him up to almost an embarrassed degree. Dean’s cock is hard and heavy, hanging between his legs and leaking, and he thinks that he’ll have to leave a nice tip for the housekeepers when they check out in the morning because there’s no way they’re going to leave this room in one piece - or any sort of touchable.

Dean’s spine arcs under Castiel’s ministrations and it seems like so long ago, when Dean had been self-conscious of his body image, because now he unfurls like parchment paper under a quill, Castiel’s tongue scribing poetry and worship into his flesh. Castiel appreciates the way his spine dips and he pulls his mouth away from Dean’s hole with a satisfying slurp, dropping kisses along the curve of his backside, and when he speaks, his breath hot over Dean’s skin, Dean rubs his cheek against the soft fibers of the rug. 

“Beg.”

“ _Please_ ,” Dean immediately replies, no shame in his voice, all inhibitions lowered as he rocks his hips backwards. “Please, Cas, feels so fucking good. Don’t stop.”

Castiel drops his mouth to Dean’s asshole to give it a long, probing suck, the smacking sound of his lips against the tight pucker making Dean’s entire body tremble. Dean’s cock leaks in reply and he feels heat starting to curl in his belly, toes threading the rug, knees burning slightly. Castiel’s tongue spears into Dean’s hole relentlessly without warning, lifting and dragging and stretching the rim and Castiel’s fingers reaching up to twist one of Dean’s nipples is all it takes for him to lose control, orgasm crashing through him. He groans loud and low as he cums, spilling ribbons onto the fluffy rug, and before he can collapse his weak body Castiel is wrapping his arms around him and lifting him up and back against his chest, teeth attacking the meat of Dean’s shoulders.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Castiel praises sincerely, roughly.

“Fuck,” Dean pants out, trying to blink away his fuzzy vision. He’s aware of being held up, aware of trying to regulate his breathing, but when Castiel starts to help him stand from the floor he feels weightless until he comes into contact with the soft bedding, Castiel helping him lie out on his back. 

Stilly dizzy, Dean looks up to see Castiel propped up above him, the man’s hands on either side of Dean’s head on the pillow. He’s between Dean’s legs and had taken off the rest of his clothes between the floor and the bed and Dean lifts sluggish hands to slide his palms down Castiel’s sides appreciatively, feeling the muscle underneath smooth skin. Their eyes meet and for the briefest pause all of their emotions are reflected in each other’s hues, green to blue and back again, and then Castiel is dipping his head down to capture Dean’s lips in a slow, languorous kiss.

Pulling away, Castiel lifts his hand to Dean’s mouth, fingers pushing past plush lips for Dean to lazily start slicking them up. His ass feels plenty loose and pliant but they don’t have lube and Castiel is apparently too impatient to leave Dean and wander to find a suitable substitute - but it’s all just as well, because Dean has grown accustomed and even partial to the stretching sensation of Castiel being too eager to fuck him without prep. Castiel removes his fingers from Dean’s lips and slips two inside of him without much difficulty, Dean pressing his head back into the pillow and letting out a low groan. 

“Open your eyes,” Castiel commands softly, scissoring his fingers, using his thumb to massage the rim as he stretches it open. “Look at only me.”

Dean obeys, drowning in the intensity of Castiel’s gaze. The man is looking at Dean like he’ll die if he looks anywhere else, stretching him open on muscle memory alone, and Dean relaxes, allowing his legs to splay open instead of bracket Castiel’s hips like they’re wont to do. A third finger in and then Dean lifts his own hand to his mouth, licking his palm and gathering all the saliva he can to spit into it, reaching down so he can stroke Castiel’s cock briskly, slicking it up as best as possible. Castiel’s hips shift into the touch and then his fingers leave the heat of Dean’s body, Dean immediately letting out an impatient noise at the loss of sensation. 

There’s another pause when Castiel presses the head of his cock against Dean’s twitching hole, their gazes unwavering, and then Dean’s neediness gets ramped up despite the fact he’s already orgasmed, want and desire swirling through his veins. 

“Fuck me. Own me. _Cas_.”

That’s all that Castiel needed. He slams home in one thrust, balls slapping against Dean’s ass and Dean cries out, throwing his hands above his head to grab at the wooden headboard to keep his body from being jostled upwards on the bed. He gives in to the urge to wrap his legs around Castiel’s waist and they don’t do it missionary too often, Castiel usually too primal or wrapped up in getting Dean bound and tied, so being able to see Castiel’s face is always an invigorating, fulfilling experience. True to his order Dean keeps his eyes open, keeps looking at Castiel’s features as the man fucks into him, the raw slide of his cock into Dean’s tight channel drawing all sorts of noises out of both of them. The four-poster bed rocks, the frame bumping against the wall with the force of Castiel’s thrusts, and Dean throws his hands up to grip at Castiel’s shoulders, blunt nails digging into his blades to keep himself grounded. 

Castiel won’t last long like this. The man can marathon on a regular day but given the circumstances and the fierce look in his eyes, Dean knows and appreciates that he’s near his wit’s end. And even though he’s soft between them pleasure still races up and down Dean’s spine when Castiel angles his hips to hit him _just right_ , Dean letting out a surprised moan and feeling his lashes get wet from the pleasure that rockets through his frame. Castiel chases his orgasm and even though he had commanded Dean to keep his eyes open, Castiel dips his head to start mouthing and biting at Dean’s throat, down towards his collarbone, leaving marks on his skin that won’t fade for days. Dean moves a hand away from the headboard to tangle it into Castiel’s hair and _tug_ , causing Castiel to groan low and deep; he moves his hands to the underside of Dean’s knees, bending his legs up to change the angle, fuck into him deeper, and Dean actually sobs, his vision going white at the intense sensation.

“Cas, Cas, Cas,” Dean chants Castiel’s name endlessly, unable to get anything else sensible to leave his lips for the time being. After a few thrusts and a few shallow breaths, Dean manages to grit out, “Cum inside me. Fuck- Cas, fill me up, _please_.”

Castiel moves his body so he can rest Dean’s calves against his chest, hands on his ankles by his shoulders, and it burns in Dean’s hamstrings but he preserves, because Castiel is sweaty, flushed, and fixated. Dean glances down to see his cock making a valiant effort to get back in on the action and he drops a hand down to it, jerking himself to full hardness, the sensitivity making his head spin. 

“Yeah,” Cas growls low, “just like that. My good boy.”

“Cas,” Dean’s voice is weak, wrecked as he twists his body, squirms underneath Castiel, thighs shifting and making Castiel readjust his grip on his legs as he fucks into him. 

They race towards the finish together, and after the first spurt of Castiel’s cum painting Dean’s insides Dean feels himself clench and release, his second orgasm spilling over his hand lazily as he jerks himself through it, tears streaming down the sides of his face to stain the pillow. Castiel fucks him through orgasm, and when he’s done he drops Dean’s legs carefully down to the bed, always so careful even in the throes, and he lowers himself over Dean so he can pepper kisses over Dean’s wet face. Dean sniffles and tries to catch his breath, a few sobs leaving his lungs as the intensity of everything crashes through him and leaves his lungs burning, and Castiel is there to wrap his arms around him and cradle him protectively, their bodies still joined.

“I love you,” Castiel is murmuring against Dean’s ear when Dean can finally regain some semblance of sanity.

A small smile filters over Dean’s tired lips and his arms find the strength to wrap around Castiel’s frame, squishing him close to his chest. “Fuckin’ love you.”

Castiel chuckles, and they take a few more minutes to catch their breath before Castiel pulls out, Dean wincing at the sensation of cum spilling out of his hole. With his usual proficiency Castiel is gone and back with a wet cloth, cleaning them both up and maneuvering Dean so he can take the soiled duvet off of the bed, tossing it off towards the side of the room before climbing back in.

A couple moments of silence, their limbs entangled in one another, and then Dean finally speaks.

“Think they’re looking for us?”

He can hear the smugness in Castiel’s voice when he replies, “They know right where we are.”

Dean smiles, pressing his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck.

He knows where he is, too.

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived happily ever after!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> don't worry, there will be an epilogue ;)  
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) so we can become bff's ok?


	12. Epilogue

_September_

Dean straightens from strapping a box up with brown packing tape, surveying Castiel’s living room. All that remains is the freshly polished hardwood floors and the built-in bookshelves, all of the furniture and accessories absent. His gaze travels towards the kitchen, which is in a similar state of emptiness, and he watches the sunlight filter through the trees in the backyard and send shadowy dots across the floor that Dean loves so much to slip around on with socked feet. It had taken them a long weekend to get everything packed away, and now that Dean is standing without any of the cushion of Castiel’s decorative touch, the house seems a lot bigger than it ever has before. In his mind’s ear he hears Castiel humming as he bakes a fresh pie; he hears Voodoo meowing at the sliding door to be let out; he hears the shower running and Castiel calling out softly for him to join. 

His chest feels a little tight.

“The auctioneer said all the pieces will be up this weekend for sale,” Castiel’s voice comes from behind Dean, in the entryway of the house.

Dean clears his throat a little and picks up the box he’d just finished taping, turning a smile towards his fiance. “That’s great.”

Castiel arches a brow. “Are you alright?”

Rolling his eyes a little, Dean wishes he could hide his feelings a little better around the other man. Castiel always picks up every nuance and shift, no matter how minor. Shrugging, Dean turns so his gaze can sweep over the empty house once again. “You sure you wanna sell?”

“Your home is the logical choice,” Castiel says simply, his presence suddenly at Dean’s elbow. His voice turns a little introspective, “Although, seeing your reaction, I may have second thoughts.”

“Why does my reaction matter?” Dean asks, blinking over at Castiel. “It’s your house.”

“Yes,” Castiel turns so he can meet Dean’s gaze, cerulean eyes deep and encompassing. “But this was your escape.”

Unable to help the small smile that tugs at his lips, Dean shakes his head. “No, Cas. My escape was never a place.” He feels a flush creeping up his cheeks. “S’always been just you.”

Castiel’s lips quirk in a pleased smile of his own, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to Dean’s mouth. “You should say cheesy things like that more often.”

“That’s all you get for the rest of the year,” Dean grumps, nipping playfully at Castiel’s lips. “I’m all cheesed out.”

“Shame,” Castiel sighs, pulling away. He looks around the house one last time. “I will miss it.”

“You sure you don’t wanna keep any of the furniture?” Dean asks as they both turn around to leave. 

Castiel shuts the front door behind them, locking it with the key before securing the key inside the lockbox hanging from the handle. “I will make a small fortune off of them, and someone else can enjoy my handiwork.”

“‘Cause you need more money,” Dean teases as they walk down the steps towards Castiel’s truck.

“How else are we going to pay for a destination wedding?” Castiel muses aloud. 

Dean carefully puts the box in the bed of the truck as Castiel gets into the driver’s seat. “Which is still kinda silly, y’know. Hawaii is kinda… extra.” He gets into the passenger seat and shuts the door, buckling up. 

“It will be beautiful,” Castiel reminds Dean. “And all of our loved ones will enjoy the vacation.”

“S’only been a month since I popped the question, y’know. A lotta people wait a bit longer to start planning the whole wedding thing.” There’s no malice in Dean’s voice; he reaches over to rest his hand on Castiel’s thigh as the man pulls the truck away from his cute bungalow house, the for sale sign in the lawn swinging gently in the wind. 

“Do you think we’re rushing things?” Castiel quirks a brow in Dean’s direction.

“No-” Dean shakes his head quickly. “Not at all. Shit, Cas, I’da married you a month after we met if I didn’t think I woulda came off as a creep.”

Castiel chuckles. “I would have said yes, so what does that say about me?”

The smile on Dean’s face hurts his cheeks. “We’re a pair of saps.”

Castiel pulls into Dean’s driveway, putting the truck in park and then exiting. He and Dean gather the last few boxes and bring them up the front porch, Dean clumsily unlocking the front door and allowing them in. Voodoo immediately darts out, a black blur, and Dean curses when he stumbles over his own feet a bit. 

“Damn it.”

Castiel just laughs, opening up the basement door so he and Dean can take the boxes downstairs to be sorted at a later time. Ten minutes later has them in the kitchen puttering around, Castiel wearing his favorite cupcake apron as he pulls out food to cook, Dean nursing a beer at the bar. It’s the picture of domesticity, and Dean finds himself absorbing every detail he can. Castiel’s house had always been cozy and inviting, but Dean’s is much more practical in terms of sharing space with another person. Not that they get sick of each other, but there are plenty of places for them to spend time separately should the mood strike. Dean’s bedroom and the three guest rooms are still reserved for their initial purposes, but the office space on the main floor that had been previously unused has been converted into Castiel’s new War Room. Dean had let Castiel redecorate the master bedroom with the soft, palatable colors that Dean had liked so much in Castiel’s original room, and the rest of everything fit so seamlessly together, it was like they were made to mesh.

Watching Castiel’s back as he cooks, Dean feels a dopey smile spreading on his lips as he takes a swig of his beer. All day Castiel has been wearing women’s jogging shorts and a racerback tank top, some of his hair pinned back with a pretty clip to keep it away from his forehead, and Dean lets his gaze rake over Castiel’s frame appreciatively.

“Hey,” Dean says suddenly.

“Hm?” Castiel doesn’t turn around as he unwraps a pair of sirloin tips. 

“What are you gonna wear for our wedding?” 

Castiel glances over his shoulder, registering the way Dean is looking over his body with a small smirk. “What would you like me to wear?”

Imagining Castiel in an elegant wedding dress is a bit too much; Castiel enjoys the comfort of sun dresses and athleisure and probably isn’t into the whole ball gown thing. Dean hums thoughtfully, and then sets his beer down. “White.”

“Anything white?” Castiel asks as he returns to the steaks, pulling down a few spices from the rack. 

“Maybe something in the style of the suit you wore at the girl’s wedding,” Dean suggests, remembering the way the suit hugged Castiel in all the right places to suggest his silhouette filled out in a slightly different shape. 

“I’m sure I can find something,” Castiel says, and his voice is casual but Dean can tell by the relaxed slope of his shoulders that he’s smiling. 

Another few minutes pass as Castiel sets a cast iron skillet on the gas stove, heating up butter and tapping his wrist on the sink faucet to wash his hands thoroughly. Dean tosses his empty beer bottle into the recycle bin and then moves to stand behind Castiel, wrapping his arms around the man from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. 

“Sometimes I’m not sure all of this is real,” Dean confesses quietly.

Castiel dries his hands on a dish towel and then turns around in Dean’s embrace, draping his arms over the slightly taller man’s shoulders and leveling sapphire with emerald, searching his expression. He stays silent for a moment and then leans in for a soft kiss, the stubble of his chin tickling Dean’s own skin slightly. 

“Do you feel that way because you’re unsure if you’re deserving?” 

Damn, Castiel always knows Dean’s deepest darkest secrets without even trying. 

“I guess,” Dean mumbles, glancing off towards the side. 

“Dean,” Castiel pulls away just enough so there’s space between them for him to keep Dean’s gaze without going cross-eyed. “You are my dream come true.”

The smile that tugs at Dean’s lips feels right at home. “So damn cheesy.”

Castiel pushes Dean away with a light eye roll. “Stuff it.” 

Dean dives in to nibble at Castiel’s neck playfully, his hands sliding down to grip Castiel’s ass. “Gladly.”

Laughter fills the kitchen as Castiel tries to get Dean off of him so he can continue cooking dinner, and as the sun sets and the house fills with the scent of a home cooked meal and the warmth of unbridled love, Dean is glad that of all the scary shit he’s ever done in his life, this is what he stuck with. 

\--

_May_

Dean’s groan of aggravation gets drowned out by Garth rotating the tires of a Honda in the first bay. He wipes his sweaty brow with the cleanest part of his rag, and then starts wiping each of his fingers individually, not even checking to see if all of the oil and grime is getting removed properly. He frowns at the classic Camaro in front of him, huffing out a breath and looking over the contents of her hood contemplatively.

“What do you need, girl?”

“Preferably a martini,” Crowley’s voice comes from behind Dean, causing the mechanic to nearly jump out of his skin. 

“Christ-!” Dean whips around and pins Crowley with a glare, pointing at him with a dirty finger. “Quit sneakin’ up on me, man! Jesus.”

Crowley sends Dean a bemused smile. “Sorry, squirrel. Next time I’ll wear my stilettos.”

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he counts backwards from ten. On three, he continues wiping his hands. “Whaddya want?”

“Checking in on my investment, of course,” Crowley says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he rocks back on his heels and looks over the blue Camaro. “Need I remind you I paid next to nothing for her? If you can’t fix her up I’ll send her to the scrap yard.”

Dean clutches his chest and gasps in dramatic surprise, “No way, José. I’m gonna bring her back to her original glory and you’re gonna put a few commas in my bank account.”

“Good to know your heart is in the right place,” Crowley says with a bit of sarcasm. His posture relaxes a little, “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re to be married this summer.”

Dean flashes a grin. Even if Crowley makes his skin crawl on a good day he never skips an opportunity to gloat about his upcoming nuptials. “Yep. Hawaii.”

“No wonder you’re so gung-ho about this heap,” Crowley muses, looking back at the car. He offers a shrug, and then starts to turn around. “If you get it done in time for the wedding, I’ll double your profit. Consider it a wedding gift.”

Dean’s jaw falls a little slack as Crowley leaves, and he barely manages to pick it up off the floor when Garth pops up next to him.

“I like that guy,” Garth says cheerfully.

Shaking his head, Dean turns back towards the Camaro with new inspiration. “He’s definitely a motivator.”

Garth slaps Dean’s back happily, “You’re the best in the biz, Dean-o. If anyone can bring this car back to ranks it’ll be you!”

He shrugs off Garth’s hand with a smile, internally pleased at the praise. “Get back to your Honda. Tell Benny he needs a lunch.”

“Got it boss!” 

Garth meanders off, supposedly to find Benny, and Dean can’t help but smile to himself as he makes sure his hand is somewhat clean before he fishes his phone out of the zippered pocket of his coveralls. He hits his speed dial and holds his phone up to his head but still about an inch away from his ear, unsure if it’s clean enough to smash his phone up to.

“Hey!” Charlie greets him immediately.

“How’s my favorite redhead?” Dean asks, tossing the rag onto the hood of the Camaro and then turning around to walk towards his office.

“Super! The doctor appointment went great. Gilda’s primed and ready to go!”

Dean fakes a wince, “Gross, Charles. I don’t need to know that about your wife.”

“You kidding me? I’m not gonna shut up about how fertile she is,” Charlie laughs obnoxiously into Dean’s ear.

Inside his office Dean unzips his coveralls and starts to shimmy out of them. “That’s really good. Have you told her yet?”

“I really wanna but I feel like we should all get together for dinner and surprise her,” Charlie says. 

Dean nods as he kicks his coveralls off, hopping on one foot to dislodge them. “Yeah, that’s probably best. Cas’ll definitely wanna be there in person when she reacts.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gonna be her baby daddy,” Charlie says dreamily. “Their offspring are gonna be gorgeous.”

“Next round can be your eggs,” Dean says smugly.

Charlie laughs, “How many kids do you think we’re gonna spit out?”

“Fertile Mertyl will probably want at least three,” Dean says knowingly as he flops down into his office chair. He adjusts a little, squirming his thighs a bit before finding a comfortable position.

Charlie groans, and then perks up a little. “Hey but good thing they’ll have two super cool uncles that will take them for the weekends, right?”

Dean shakes his mouse idly to wake up his computer, snorting. “The wonderful thing about being an uncle versus a parent is when I get tired of the rascal I can give ‘em back.”

“You say that, but I’m gonna have to keep tabs on you so you don’t try to kidnap them,” Charlie laughs.

“You’d let me,” he fires back.

“You’re right,” Charlie says dreamily. “Oh! She’s coming out now. Can we do dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sure thing,” Dean agrees readily. “Talk to you later, Charles.”

“Love ya!”

The phone call ends and Dean finds himself staring at a spreadsheet on his screen, lost in thought - he shakes himself out of it and chuckles, calling Castiel.

“Hello, Dean.” 

Even after two years, hearing Castiel’s voice does wonders in drawing out all the toxins in Dean’s mind and body. He relaxes into the chair, swiveling idly from side to side. “Hey, babe. Dinner tomorrow night with the girls? So we can tell Gilda you’re gonna give her your baby juice.”

“Always so eloquent,” Castiel deadpans. He’s silent for a moment, and Dean’s mind can clearly see him pulling his phone away from his ear to pull up his calendar and look things over. “Tomorrow night works. Restaurant or home?”

“Home,” Dean says, “so we can get them hammered one last time before they venture into parenthood.”

“Good call,” Castiel amends. “How is the Camaro?”

“If I finish it before we leave for Hawaii, Crowley’s gonna pay all our expenses,” Dean says happily.

“Oh?” he can hear the arch in Castiel’s eyebrow. “Weren’t you just saying yesterday you were unsure if the car was salvageable?” 

“That was before he made such a promising offer,” Dean says. “I can just rebuild.”

“Will you get that done in time?”

Dean glances at the large calendar pinned up on the wall of the office. The wedding date is set for October, and Dean drums his fingers over the arm of the chair thoughtfully. “Five months should be fine. I can bring Garth on and teach him a coupla’ new things.”

“If that’s a workload you can manage without overdoing it,” Castiel agrees carefully. Always making sure Dean doesn’t take on too much stress.

“I don’t have any other projects lined up,” Dean says with a shrug. “An’ if somethin’ comes in, Benny can take it.”

Castiel hums in reply. There’s a brief pause, and then he speaks again, “I noticed something missing from the dresser this morning.”

Dean smiles beatifically, even if Castiel can’t see it. “Oh? What kind of something?” 

“Hm, about the size of an egg, tapered on one end… silicone. Hot pink.”

Dean plays dumb even as he shifts again, making sure to arch his back a little so a dull thrum of pleasure licks up his spine. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like that just lying around.”

“Mm _hmm_ ,” Castiel clearly doesn’t believe him, which is all well and good. “Will you be home at a decent hour tonight?”

“Just finishing up some bookwork right now,” Dean says, enjoying the slightly eager tone in Castiel’s usually stoic voice. “Be home in about an hour.”

“Then I will be, as well.” Castiel says primly. “And, Dean?”

“Yeah?” his voice falls breathy without his permission.

“Wait for me in the kitchen.”

Dean grins wolfishly, already imagining Castiel splaying him out on the large island and partaking in him as an appetizer. “Yes, Sir.”

It’s a good day.

\--

Charlie and Gilda come over the following evening, arms laden with booze bottles and enough snacks to put teenage groups of stoner boys to shame. Dean’s got burgers on the barbecue and Castiel is prepping salad in the kitchen when the girls enter, general commotion ensuing as they all greet one another. It doesn’t take long to get dinner squared away, the outside table set and drinks poured, and once they’re about halfway through the meal, Charlie looks like she can’t contain herself anymore.

“So,” Charlie says, turning towards Gilda with a spark in her eyes. “We’ve done all this testing to make sure that your goods are good.”

Gilda manages an amused smile as she lifts her glass of wine to her lips, “More or less, yes.”

“And all we have left to do is find a donor,” Charlie continues.

Gilda’s brows raise a little, waiting expectantly for Charlie to finish her thought. Her gaze flicks between Dean and Castiel curiously, and then she squeaks in surprise when Charlie shakes her shoulder in excitement. 

“Cas wants to be your baby daddy!!”

Realization dawns on Gilda’s face, her eyes lighting up, her cheeks flushing in a mixture of tipsy and excited as she turns to face the men with her mouth hanging open. “Castiel, are you serious?”

Dean rubs Castiel’s shoulder warmly, “He talked to his doctor last week and got the ok.”

“Oh my God,” Gilda fans her face repeatedly, setting her wine glass down on the table before she spills. “Oh my _God_ , you guys!”

Charlie claps her hands. “The gene pool is saved! Our kid is gonna be beautiful _and_ smart!”

Castiel reaches across the table to rest his hand over Gilda’s - she wiggles her fingers between his in a rare show of physical affection - and he smiles softly. “I would be honored to give you and Charlie this gift.”

There are unshed tears in Gilda’s eyes as she squeezes Castiel’s hand and looks between him and Dean. “You two are such a blessing. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say when and we’ll baste you,” Dean says with a sleezy wink.

Charlie wrinkles her nose, “Gross.”

Gilda laughs, withdrawing her hand so she can fan her face with both of her hands. “ _Thank you_.” After a few moments of gathering herself, she sends a playful smile towards Charlie. “How about for number two we see what you and Dean can make?” 

“A beautiful Irish baby,” Charlie says dreamily, “with red hair, green eyes, and freckles.”

Dean laughs and picks up his beer for a swig. “Whatever you girls need, you know we’ll provide.” He waggles his brow. “We get lots of practice in.”

“Dean,” Castiel says insufferably, rolling his eyes a little. He speaks to Gilda, “Perhaps you should wait on using his DNA until he grows up a little.” 

Gilda’s eyes flash playfully, “I don’t know, I’ve always found him a little charming.”

Charlie lifts up her wine glass with a grin, clearing her throat. “Let’s toast! And get drunk as fuck for the last time for nine months!”

Gilda lifts her glass but pouts a little, “Can’t we wait until after the wedding? I don’t want to be pregnant in Hawaii…”

“Girl’s got a point,” Dean agrees.

Charlie mirrors the pout, “But- baby.”

Gilda clinks her glass against Charlie’s with a laugh. “We’ve got the ammo. Besides, we can do some saving and cherish these last few months as a childless couple.”

“Another good point,” Dean says, face drawn in mock seriousness. “Ya gotta live these last few months like animals. Before you gotta start baby-proofing everything and picking out colors for the nursery.”

“You know it’s all going to be gender neutral,” Charlie interjects.

Castiel nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean gestures with his free hand and holds up his beer with a wide smile. “Let’s get trashed.”

All of their glasses clink over the table, the setting sun fading through the trees the perfect backdrop to their laughter-filled evening.

\--

_September_

“Ah, yeah…” Dean licks his lips, threading his fingers through Castiel’s hair as the other man lavishes his nipples with attention, teeth, tongue, fingers. His spine arches and he feels heat spread through his limbs, legs spreading to accommodate Castiel’s frame between them, his sleepy brain trying to catch up with the early-morning onslaught of sensation.

Castiel rakes his nails down Dean’s thick sides, and Dean delights in the way that Castiel follows the burning trail with his soft lips. It’s not often they go this slow, this unhurried; but Castiel takes the time this morning to worship Dean with his mouth, whisper praises against his skin, butterfly kiss his freckles. Strong hands guide Dean to roll over onto his stomach, a soft, content sigh leaving Dean’s lips as he presses his pelvis into the sheets so he can tilt his ass up. His arms stretch above his head to grab his pillow and bring it under his chest, knees spreading, toes curling, and Castiel’s mouth against his hole has him exhaling hotly. 

They move together sinuously, Castiel taking apart Dean with his lips and tongue with finesse. Dean rocks back, Castiel rocks forward, and when Castiel’s fingers slide in next to his tongue Dean gets impatient and indulgent at the same time. He opens up easily and it’s not long before Castiel’s cock is sliding home, his sharp hip bones digging into the flesh of Dean’s ass pleasantly, kisses raining across Dean’s shoulder blades. The bed barely rocks with the motion, Castiel keeping his movements slow and deep, Dean’s cock trapped between his belly and the soft duvet. It doesn’t take long for them to climax together, and while they’re coming down from the high Castiel gathers Dean in his arms and continues to kiss over his skin, Dean feeling a little dizzy and overwhelmed from the intense display of affection.

“S’posed to be spoiling you,” Dean manages to murmur out, his lips tingling, drunk on Castiel’s love. “S’your birthday.” 

“You’re all I need,” Castiel replies easily, his voice just as soft as Dean’s, neither of them wanting to disturb the thick, sleepy, warm haze around them. 

Dean responds by returning the embrace, cheek to Castiel’s forehead, legs tangled, fingers dancing over the bumps in Castiel’s spine. “Love you.”

Castiel drops yet another kiss to the hollow of Dean’s throat. “And I, you.” 

\--

_October_

On their wedding day Dean stands under the pergola perched on the sandy beach, the gentlest of sea breezes ruffling the white lace curtains of the backdrop. He’s surprisingly not feeling nervous at all as he waits for Castiel to come out of their hotel suite, instead allowing excitement and wonder to fill every inch of his being. He’s wearing powder blue slacks and a white button-down shirt, feet bare of shoes as he wiggles his toes into the warm sand, reminiscent of his and Castiel’s first date over two years ago on the lakefront. His mind’s eyes supplies him with the image of Castiel knee-deep in water he couldn’t swim in, face turned up to the sun that tanned him, smile on the lips that seared a brand into Dean’s soul. 

He feels his throat close up a little and his eyes get hot and ok, alright. He’s not nervous, but he’s definitely feeling emotional. His fingers gently twirl the red rose in his grasp, the pad of his thumb brushing over where the thorns had been cut off.

Seated in front of the pergola is a crowd of four; Charlie and Gilda, as well as Sam and Jessica, all holding white roses delicately in their hands. A small and intimate wedding ceremony only for the eyes of the people Dean and Castiel want privy to the union, and it’s honestly perfect. 

Bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet Dean smooths a slightly damp palm down the front of his slacks, eyes on the door of their suite a hundred feet up the beach. The sliding door moves and then Castiel is coming out dressed in white slacks and a white button-down, hair tousled, a single red rose clasped gently in the fingers of his right hand. There’s no music save for the soundtrack of the ocean waves lapping gently at the shore, and Charlie and Sam start clapping excitedly as Castiel makes his way down the beach. Castiel smiles broadly, and when he stands across him, Dean feels his belly swoop like it did the first time he laid eyes on the man.

“Honored guests,” the officiant starts, speaking up a bit to be heard over the waves. “There are two kinds of family. The kind you are born into, and then the kind you choose. Dean and Castiel have told me that those present are their chosen blessings.” Dean watches as Castiel’s eyes glow brighter by the second, the corners of his smile twitching minutely. Damn all these emotions. “This ceremony seeks to honor the continuity, as well as the growth and possibilities of these relationships. In honor of their love for each other, as well as this chosen family, we invite these special individuals to place their rose in this vase,” he gestures towards the small podium in front of him, a plain crystal vase set atop the surface, blue and green pebbles filling it about a quarter of the way. 

From their seats their family rises, walking carefully up towards where Dean, Castiel, and the officiant are standing. One by one they each gently put their rose in the vase, departing the flower with a kiss and a smile, before returning to their seats. 

“As each of them place their flower in the vase it will create a new and fuller garden, filled with love, loyalty, and happiness. Each flower represents one of you and together, they make a beautiful family.” Dean and Castiel carefully add their red roses to the bouquet of white, and then take each other’s hands when the officiant gestures for them to do so. Dean runs his thumbs gently over Castiel’s knuckles, feeling the line of his wedding band, solid, grounding. “May your relationship with each other and your family continue to blossom. Dean and Castiel, with the exchanging of your roses, I pronounce you husbands.”

Letting out a breathless chuckle, Dean allows Castiel to pull him closer, sand shifting over their feet as they meet for a kiss. Dean lets go of Castiel’s hands and wraps his arms around his husband’s shoulders, pulling him closer; Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and hauls him up with that strength that always takes Dean’s breath away and Dean laughs, wrapping his legs tight around Castiel’s waist, teeth nipping playfully. Everyone claps in reply, Castiel spinning in a slow circle before setting Dean back down, and when they part Charlie is already wheedling her way between their bodies to pull them in to a group hug. 

“You guys just gave our wedding a run for our money!” Charlie says when she pulls away, thumbing under her eyes.

Gilda waves her phone with a huge smile, “I got it all on film for you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says to Gilda over Charlie’s head. 

“I can’t believe you did a rose ceremony,” Sam teases as he claps Dean on the shoulder.

Dean rolls his eyes and pulls his oaf brother into a bone crushing hug, enjoying the way Sam hugs him back just as tight. He ruffles his long hair and then pulls back so he can hug Jessica, whose eyes are distracted by Gilda replaying the official kiss, and Dean laughs as he catches sight of him climbing Castiel like a koala. 

“I’ll go tell the caterers we’re ready for brunch,” Sam says, taking Jessica’s hand so they can head to the hotel. 

Dean’s hand finds Castiel’s without really thinking about it, but when Castiel presses into Dean’s side and drops kisses to his cheekbones Dean grins and looks at his husband - his _husband_ \- with a bit of bewilderment and infatuation. “Hey, you.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel replies automatically. The sea breeze whips through his hair, flutters his lashes, makes the sheer collar of his dress shirt brush up against the tan skin of his throat. His eyes are bluer than the ocean and his smile brighter than the sun and Dean can’t help but cup his face and bring him in for a slow, chaste kiss, a loving slide of lips as his thumbs press gently under Castiel’s jaw to tilt his head up some. He lingers for a moment and then pulls away, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s, watching the other man’s eyes crinkle attractively with happiness and love. “I am officially a Winchester.” 

Dean’s heart thuds and his throat closes a bit. “You’ve always been family, Cas. That ain’t ever gonna change.”

Castiel’s smile quirks a little, “Good thing I signed the prenup.” 

A laugh barks out of Dean and he shakes his head, pulling away from Castiel and shoving his shoulders lightly. “Asshole.” But he’s thankful Castiel broke the chick flick moment, because Dean is pretty sure he’s had his fill for, like, the next decade. 

Or, at least until Charlie and Gilda have a baby. Then it’s on all over again.

Dean and Castiel turn to start helping the girls arrange the seats around the provided table, brushing sand off of the tablecloth. Gilda brings over the vase containing all of their roses and puts it in the center, and when Dean glances up he sees Sam and Jessica coming out with a few trays and some hotel employees behind them. Once the food is all set and they have a seat Sam raises his beer in a toast, smiling proudly at Dean. 

“To Dean and Cas. But mostly to Cas, for wrangling Dean in. Now he’ll bug me less throughout the year.”

Laughter chimes and everyone knocks bottles and glasses together to take a drink, before digging in to their food. Under the table Dean’s right hand is on Castiel’s left, resting on his husband’s thigh, fingers toying with the wedding band idly. They keep catching each other’s eye and Dean feels giddy and love drunk and as he looks around the table at his friends, his _family_ , he knows… this is it. 

This is his great escape.

\--

**BONUS**

“UNCLE DEAN!!”

Dean’s knees snap crackle and pop as he drops into a squat with his arms wide open, bracing himself for the four year-old child-sized bullet that launches at his chest. He wraps his arms around his nephew and then stands up, spinning around a few times, the little boy squealing and kicking his legs out happily. 

“How’s it goin’, squirt?” Dean asks, perching the boy on his hip.

Charlie comes up the steps of the front porch with a roll in her eyes, “You ask like you haven’t seen him in weeks. It’s been two days.” She trips on the last step and glances down to see the overnight bag the boy had been carrying thrown haphazardly, clearly not important enough to interrupt a Dean hug. Bending, she picks it up and laughs. “Hey, it made it to the stairs this time!”

Dean reaches out to take the bag from her, exaggerating a frown. “Jack, you’re supposed to treat your things nicely.”

Big blue eyes look up at Dean with a pout, and Dean feels his knees go weak. “There’s nothing broke-able in there.” 

Dean reaches up to brush chestnut hair back from the boy’s forehead, “Still, though. You gotta treat your things nicely so you can take good care of them and they last a long time.” 

“I’m growing!” Jack says, throwing his arms up with a laugh. “My clothes don’t fit!”

“I see that,” Dean says, tickling his exposed tummy playfully. Jack squeals and tries to squirm out of his arms, but Dean holds fast, turning his attention to Charlie and sending her an award-winning smile. “You gals enjoy your paint-and-sip or whatever it is.” 

“ _Van Gogh and Merlot_ ,” Charlie corrects, sounding way too pleased. “And trust me, we will.”

Jack flops around enough that Dean is now just holding him by his ankle, Jack squealing and giggling and wrapping his arms around Dean’s thigh for leverage. 

“You sure you don’t want us to keep him all weekend?” Dean asks. Jack starts bonking his forehead into his leg repeatedly while whispering _please please please mommy!_. 

“We’re going to grandma’s on Sunday for dinner,” Charlie says, blowing her bangs out of her face. 

“Gonna announce the bun in the oven?” Dean grins.

“I want a sister!” Jack yells against Dean’s jeans. 

“Yeah,” Charlie grins. “They’re still weirded out about, uh- you guys being the uncles.”

“Where’s uncle Cas?” Jack starts squirming again, one of his feet kicking Dean in the armpit. 

“Let ‘em be weirded out,” Dean says with a shrug. He pretends to drop Jack, making the boy scream in surprise, and then laughs and puts him upright and down on the porch. He pats his head, “Uncle Cas is inside making you a snack. Go wash your hands and help.” 

Jack immediately thunders away into the house at a sprint, “UNCLE CAS, DOES YOUR SOAP STILL SMELL LIKE OLD LADY?”

Dean and Charlie share a disbelieving laugh, and then Dean brings Charlie in for a warm hug. “Don’t worry about the grandparents. They’ve got a lot to swallow with gay daughters having gay sperm donors.” He pauses, then guffaws. “Ha, lot to swallow. Sperm donors. Gay.” 

Charlie shares the guffaw as she pulls away. “I know, I know. I mean- they’re such assholes though. I literally heard Gilda’s mom saying they were only satisfied with that Cas was gonna be Jack’s donor because he’s a successful businessman.” 

Dean looks affronted, “And I’m not?”

“That’s what I fucking said!” Charlie huffs. “You’re both successful businessmen and so good at your own thing. Basically pillars in this stupid city. Without Cas parents wouldn’t have a place to dump their kids off for an hour, and without you, no one would get their oil changed.” 

“That about sums it up,” Dean says with a laugh. Then he shakes his head, shrugging and offering a small smile. “Don’t let them get to you, Charles.”

“You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with in-laws,” Charlie grumbles as Dean pulls her into a hug. 

“Well, this next kid is all me and you, so it’ll be like salt in the wound,” Dean says with a chuckle. He reaches to rub Charlie’s stomach and promptly gets punched in the ribs just as Castiel comes out onto the porch with a dish towel in hand. “Heya babe,” Dean wheezes.

“Did you try to touch her stomach again?” Castiel asks dryly, wiping his hands. 

“My life force is growing in there,” Dean says a bit defensively, rubbing his ribs idly. “You’re drinking sparkling water tonight, right?” 

Charlie wrinkles her nose, “Sparkling water is nasty. They’ve got virgin sangrias there!”

“Good,” Castiel says, “I’m glad you can still enjoy your tradition.”

“Thanks guys,” Charlie says. She moves to hug each of them quickly, “I gotta go. And I swear to God Dean if you give Jack laffy taffy again I will murder you.”

“But it’s so funny to watch him try to chew it,” Dean grins. 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “There is no candy in the house at the moment.”

“Wait-” Dean turns to pout at Castiel. “None? Like, at all?” 

Castiel sends Dean a wry smile, “Yes, as per request of your dentist.” 

Dean’s cheeks flush, and he reaches up to rub his jaw idly. “I get one freaking cavity…”

“Have a good night, Charlie,” Castiel says. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Charlie is already hopping down the steps, “See ya later bitches!”

Dean and Castiel watch Charlie drive away for a few moments, before Dean speaks up.

“Kinda quiet in there, huh?”

“So it seems.”

“Ten bucks says paper towels.”

“Fifteen says it’s the tools you left on the back deck.”

Realization dawns on Dean’s features and then he jumps into action, running into the house and yelling, “Jack? Jack! Put the crowbar down!”

Smiling to himself, Castiel slowly moves inside the house, shutting the front door. 

Picture perfect.

“Uncle Dean, this one makes a noise when you press the button!”

“Not cool, not cool!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to readers old and new, _thank you_ for being so freaking amazing- talking with me, laughing with me, yelling at me ♥  
>  you all are so wonderful.  
> thank you for coming on this journey with me.
> 
> come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) so we can be friends forever


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